Life is Better than Good

Little People

2011-08-09T16:01:00.000-07:00

I need to redecorate here. The wallpaper is peeling and it smells a little musty. I should get on that before the mold starts in. But just as cleaning out my house was painful, this will be too.

How will I take down her picture? How will I tell my two oldest children, "Goodbye" if I must? Even in Blogland.

Surely I need to change the name of my blog just as I changed my physical address. Any suggestions?

"Life is short and so am I" is the worst I've come up with, so don't be shy.

It's Been Awhile

2011-08-04T00:05:00.000-07:00

No, there's no Limp Biskit to follow. I'm so sorry for those that googled that song and landed here. Yesterday, now that it's after midnight (no, don't get excited about JJ Kale either), is the anniversary of her coming home and promising to stay forever. She didn't. Please don't say I told you so. I have enough of that in my real life. The truth is that I'm better than OK. I'm dating a wonderful man (gasp, choke, recover - yes, a MAN) who thinks I'm the greatest thing thing since Slushies. And I think he's the greatest thing since the Civil Rights Movement. I'm happy. I'm happy, God Damnit!

So can we all agree that I deserve a song or two? I do love a jukebox! Let's start with this and then we'll carry on as all good southerners do . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00xvz1DQgb4

So then there's the break-up tribute. Every last one of you has been here. In the immortal words of Kathy Griffin, "Let's go to the gutter; shall we?"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OiwX2-0RZdg

And then after every hurricane comes a rainbow, right? That's what we were promised. It's been about a year since the wheels came off. I thought I would never roll again, and honestly, friends, there were days I didn't care to. And then one day I walked out of therapy with my weekly homework in my satchel, and my Promise arrived in the shape of an old friend who (come to find out) had loved me all these years while I was completely unaware and completely in love elsewhere. And now, now I can't imagine anywhere without him. Ain't that some shit?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8THouU576WY

Life is a wild and mostly wonderful place. I'm glad to have you guys with which to hit the high points, while we're holding our common breaths, waiting for the plunge.

Thanks to those of you who, in your own lives inspire me by flinging your hands towards the Goddess and shouting, "Look, Mom! No Hands!"

I have a question

2010-08-23T20:54:00.000-07:00

What do you think of men? That's the short question.

Long before I counted myself a member of the finest club on earth (The Lesbians), I had observed, lived to know, etc. that men come and go and are not to be depended upon for mental or emotional stability. Bringing home the bacon? Sometimes. But only when I was recently full of chicken.

I was told tonight that "there are some good ones, few and far between maybe, but there are some good ones." OK. I all but told her to "go on with her bad self."

Strangely enough, my front porch mentor on the subject of "good men" went on to tell me the saddest story of her perfect man, her "Bubba." This is a man that raised her and loved her though he had no biological or legal reason to. She loves him. He loves her.

Unless . . . she brings home a black man (she's white) or a woman. And in which case she's "done."

A similar situation in my own life put the nail in my "good men" coffin.

So the long question is, Ladies, straight, gay, ambiguous, young and old, how do you live with, communicate with, make love to, leave, stay with, defend yourself from, cling to, hope for, grieve for the men in your lives?

Do you revel in their different-ness? Celebrate the wonder of life? Do you endure heartache? Abuse? Have you found your "other half"? Do you clamor sometimes foolishly for their attention? And if so, to what end? Why? Do you trust them? Do they disappoint you? Do they lift you up? Do they take care of you? Do you take care of them?

I am truly and gratefully interested in the good, the bad and the ugly.

Celebrate!

2010-08-05T07:04:00.000-07:00

Thank you, Judge Vaughn Walker. You helped a few more of us "climb on, two by two."

Revel

2010-05-25T22:46:00.000-07:00

I've been away forEVER. My last post said that I wanted to revel in my family. So here goes . . . It is late. Too late. Margo has taken our newest best friend around the block to prove to her that a certain landmark is in fact, this direction from my front porch and not that direction at all. They are both very funny people.

And in this cloud of directional confusion (and especially from my own front porch) I find myself reminded of my True North. Margo sights me.

"My Butt Grow!"

2010-01-16T16:39:00.001-08:00

Ray is skinny, super skinny. He's 3 and wears a 3T shirt which is expected. But he wears 18 month pants because his waist hasn't caught up to his legs, which is to say that he has been wearing capris and long socks all winter.

Several months ago for reasons unknown to me, my aunt Mimi got Ray to eat by telling him that it would make his butt grow. He is totally taken with this notion.

He talks about his butt all the time. Before dinner, during dinner, and especially afterward when he has us examine his butt to see if it did indeed grow. If his pants fall down, he says he needs to eat to make his butt grow. If someone tells him that he's gotten so big, he turns around and shows them his butt. "My butt grow!"

I know this picture is terribly blurry, but his pants! How hilarious is this? :)

Dixie's Babies

2010-01-14T19:06:00.001-08:00

So there's this lady, no she's not a lady, she's an angel. Her name is Dixie. She was on a church mission to Haiti years and years ago and didn't leave. She has started and continued to run God's Littlest Angels Orphanage in the mountains there.

I first saw her on TLC's Adoption Story about 7 years ago. A family from Edmonton was traveling to Haiti to get their son, Brian. The mother said that Dixie had sent them several profiles of children in need of a family, and when she saw Brian her heart lit up. "That's my son. That's my boy."

The adoptive mother and father flew to Haiti and spent several days on site with Brian. Dixie seemed ever present. She arranged for the adoptive family to meet Brian's much older biological sister. It was amazing to see the love that she had for her baby brother and the joy and hope that she had for his future.

The new family flew back to Canada. They dressed Brian in a snow suit on the plane. There was a most priceless clip of Brian standing in the cold night watching the snow come down. Without looking at her, he reached up and took his mother's hand.

I haven't been able to get Brian or his mother and father or Dixie or any of the other children there out of my head. Out of my heart.

Dixie has a blog that's well worth the read. She has a life that's well worth the upper echelons of Heaven.

If you are searching for something to put your positive energy or dollars towards, please click on either link and help Dixie help so many.

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Crabby

2010-01-13T06:45:00.000-08:00

I've been lost in my own brain. Believe me, it can get sticky and dark in there.

I found myself mired down in all the drama that attacked our little group here. It made me sad. It shook the comfort that I took in our strange but I thought powerful friendships. So I retreated, telling myself that I had been let down once again. I was wrong.

I let myself down. I realized that this space that began as a place for me to purge and also celebrate my sometimes quirky life stories had become over the months something of a chat room. I was writing to you and for you and not for myself. And I grew tired and felt a little bit empty.

In a house with 6 (sometimes more) people, there are very few things that are just mine. In fact I can think of only 2, my bras and my shoes and that's only because they don't fit anyone else. Small favors. But this space was all mine. No one else's, until I gave it away. I never claimed to be a genius. Well, there was that once, but that came crashing down as well. In short, I missed this little nook that I had carved out for myself.

So I'm back. (Is AC/DC playing as loudly in your head as it is in mine?) Hopefully with more discipline to record my life with my kids and my Great Love and our wonderful friends and less compulsion and desire to make you all like me, not that I wouldn't take that if it came along.

Jude, I thought this might inspire you . . .

2009-11-25T10:29:00.000-08:00

You got Cancer? Yeah . . . But it doesn't have you. R has you, and we have you, and we are something fierce. I mean, Rocket is security for the love of God - She blew Ida away, you know.

So you just have to breathe. Don't forget to breathe.

I love you, Papa. Can you feel it all the way over there?

Wow-Zah

2009-11-23T12:23:00.000-08:00

This was waiting for me in my inbox this morning. There was a little note that said, "Can't wait to get home." Me, either.

Jude, thanks for taking the yummiest picture of us ever.

Got Drool?

Perchance to Dream . . .

2009-11-21T20:14:00.000-08:00

Our electricity went off tonight. Dawn had been in bed for about 30 minutes. The kids had just settled down. I was enjoying a little solitude.

Not many of you know this, but I am panicky scared of the dark, especially of electricity-less dark. It's too quiet and WAY too dark, just as I imagine the opening moments of the apocalypse may be. Yikes and shivers.

I was immediately still as a statue can be in a swivel chair. With its eyes closed. I know that doesn't seem right, but here's my argument . . . When the lights are down, it very often is the shadows that freak me out and cause me to do things destructive like jump and run and knock over something that crashes something else or my toe. So for the last few years I've been closing my eyes in the dark so I'm not unnecessarily distracted from my goal - survival.

So there I was in my swivel chair, eyes closed, waiting for Dawn to get up and come and save me. Instead of her shuffling/stumbling pads, I heard a herd of elephants. It wanted a Mommy. And just when I was feeling my best.

I got my herd snuggled together on the couch and assured them I would be right back with a light. Turning to face my darkened path, I chanted something like "Ham Sa Brea Thing Is Good Ham Sa Ham Sa Damn It And Gulf Po Wer Brea Thing Brea Thing Please For The Love Of God Let Me Keep Brea Thing."

Wouldn't you have loved to see me, a completely un-blind woman stumbling around dining chairs in the dark with my eyes squeezed shut, all the time noiselessly mouthing monosyllabic babble?

As it turned out, I got to spend a complete hour with all of my children, all to myself. I read aloud, by candlelight one of the Magic Tree House books by Mary Pope Osbourne while they snuggled together near-silently. I can't remember the last time they did that, for that long. When the book was done, they all lay down together on a pallet; and the little boys fell asleep while I rubbed their foreheads.

And that's a true story - I'm not even making it up.

Clearly, the power is back on now and my heartrate has returned to something close to normal, and my breathing will soon mimic that of my sleeping angel-kids. But before my big slumber, I had to take a minute to appreciate the storm that brought the lightning that brought the thunder that brought down the lights that brought my children to my arms that held a story that rocked us all into calm that delivers us to dream . . .

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We didn't win the lottery. . .

2009-11-18T18:28:00.000-08:00

Or did We? (You all remember how I show respect with Capitalization, right?)

Literally, we did not win the Florida Powerball. Not on the 31st or the 7th or the 14th. We just recently started religiously buying lottery tickets. I was inspired by a little story within Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. (If you haven't read it. Do. Right now. For real. GO!) It involves a poor man who goes to the cathedral every day for years begging God to let him win the lottery. Finally, an exasperated God bellows back, "Would you please buy a ticket?!!" I giggled at my own folly and bought a fucking ticket and then another and then another. So far I've won more tickets that didn't win. Hey, it's a start.

Roulette (and Craps) of life - I didn't hit SuperMom when I was born or when I gave birth, I'm ashamed to admit. I did manage Survivor when I broke out of her cell and Tough as Nails when my own babies broke from mine. I figure that I'm beating the house odds which has to be remarkable at this old age of mine. (I turned 31 last weekend, and I'm still waiting for the lightning strike of epiphany that I usually get around my birthday. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Oh! Crap! Is that the epiphany? My fucking clock!?!)

On the other hand, a FLUSH! (We couldn't possibly qualify as a straight:) - I crack myself up, I swear I do. Like a flush, there doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to our family and then Oh! Right!, they're all wearing the same suit! OK - clearly this has gone on too long.

Look, here it is. My life is great. I've been bitching and moaning and feeling pretty damn sorry for myself. It's total bullshit and I'm a whiny baby and I'm tired of feeling like a charity case that makes excuses after excuses after not doing a damn thing to make anything better.

So there! The lottery draws again on Saturday. What are the chances?

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Sheer Goodness

2009-11-09T17:20:00.000-08:00

Ida is blowing in, which is to say that the rain is coming in sideways. Maybe the water will seep in through the windows tonight instead of the foundation. A girl can dream, right? This is our first Hurricane. Whoo Hoo! I'm glad we're getting an easy one to break us in. The radio folks don't seem to think that we'll even lose power. Knock on driftwood.

Dawn surprised me with a trip to New Orleans. One could make a case that we fell in love there, so it's always a special trip. At this point, with Ida looming, a little baby (big boy) party to plan and a wife to snuggle, I'll leave it mostly to the pictures.

This is the drink that Dawn drank even after the leaves fell in her drink.

This is the tree from which the leaves that fell in Dawn's drink fell. Not exactly a straight shot.

Dawn's Swamp Fest Lunch - Jambalaya or "Jumba" as our Twins Call It

My Swamp Fest Lunch - Shrimp and Grits and Beer or "Sheer Deliciousness" as I Call It

And this is the baby that grew in my belly. And 3 years ago at just about this time, he like his cousin Ida made his intention to make an appearance known. Like he did this weekend, he danced, without regard for anyone else. He ate a bag of chips this weekend (just like his Momma did 3 years ago - same brand and everything - weird, right?) and squirmed and shook and tapped his feet and smiled his smile.

My last baby will be 3 years old at 3:41 in the morning. He had soft feet and yellow hair, and has smelly feet and red hair.

My Goodness.

Think love, love, love . . .please

2009-11-05T20:34:00.000-08:00

Dawn's best friend's husband is stationed at Hood. It has of course, been a terrible day for their community. Please push your most loving vibes to them and their friends.

Love, love, love. We do it for love, love, love.

Love, love, love . . .

Me, Me, Me

2009-11-02T16:56:00.000-08:00

I have some terrible news. I have some fabulous news. Cry with me, OK? Sing and Dance with me, will you?

Today, I walked away from mother. I sighed, looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath, looked at Dawn, put my shoes on and walked away. I rode the elevator down to the ground floor, walked across a parking lot, leaned on my van and smoked a forbidden cigarette. The last 20 years swam in my tears and I made a decision.

Me. Me. Me. I'm going to live for me now. I am all done with her cyclone of misery. I choose to live. I choose to spend my energy and love with Dawn, Storm, Faith, William, Ray, Mimi, our close friends - the family that we have built and nurtured despite never being taught how.

I decided to stop being her daughter - subject to her whims, abuse and even the dictations of her DNA that multiplies in my cells. I decided to be my children's mother, and mommy, and protector. I decided that enough is enough.

Laughter - I've missed it. I'm funny - I had almost forgotten. I am happy - who knew?

Even at this moment, when cobwebs rank with her decaying funk are still clinging to me, I have much love and great hope. I can see Dawn's halo again, and I can feel it's glow on my dried skin. My children are singing, not whining. Dancing with me, not tripping me. I adore them.

Please forgive my nauseating cliches. Please forgive my worn out metaphors. Please forgive my decidedly uncreative stabs at prose tonight. You'll give me a break - I know you will. I know you will because you have stuck with me through this game of family Chinese checkers. You have hugged me and dried my tears. You have been my friends.

I'm sure my writing will pick up. Give me a second, will you?

Gray? Grey? I don't care.

2009-10-29T18:19:00.000-07:00

Do you ever have a day when it would just be better if you didn't talk? When everything that
comes out of your mouth is just catty? Or hateful? Or just generally unhelpful? That's me today.

There's a children's book called "My Many Colored Days." It's about moods. It's fabulous. "Gray. Gray Day. I watch, but nothing moves today." That's me today.

William parachuted from the top step, relying on a Target bag for his very life. He had a bandana tied around his head - it was pushing his little ears down. I managed a weak smile.

Ray calls pumpkins "Ump Umps." He has a little bitty one that he's been carrying around. Everywhere. I think it's floating in the tub water right now. I noticed this adorableness, but have no exuberance or soul-warmth from it.

Faith had a level 10 breakdown tonight. These come once in a blue moon but when they do, they are something truly fierce, barometric pressure altering and earth-shaking. She worked herself into such a fit that she was baring her teeth, flailing about and assaulting whoever was closest. I took this as just what I deserved. She was acting just like I feel. I was down enough to mistake her discomfort (putting it lightly) for my karma.

Storm is perfect. Thank God, the wildcard is stable.

I don't wear misery well. It's like my mother's suit - itchy and ill-fitting and boxy and hot.

I can't remember to Ham Sa. I can't remember to eat. I can't remember anything, to tell the truth. My days are foggy. You know how when you have a sinus infection, it feels like you have cotton balls stuffed between your ears? I have that confusion without the pain.

Save me, Halloween! Shake me out of this funk. Please.

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Floodgates, finally

2009-10-27T11:22:00.000-07:00

Remember how I said I haven't cried yet? Now I have. McDonald's is what sent me over the edge. Pathetic, I know.

I realized at about 10:30 that I forgot to make Storm a lunch. The little boys and I were out running errands so I zipped into the McDonald's drive-thru. I ordered $12.98 worth of heart-attack-in-a-bag. I pulled around to the first window and gave the lady my credit card. Declined. "Could you try it again, please?" Declined. Fuck.

You see, I never use my credit card. The only reason we have it is to pay off the solar panels. For the last several days, I've had to run it a few times for odds and ends for my mother's move. And I had to do one big purchase on it because her Target card was declined when she sent me there yesterday.

So I hung my head, apologized and got out of line. Then I remembered that I had her other credit card because I had to leave one on file at the "Senior Community." I got back in line, ordered the same $12.98 worth of artery clogging, and pulled around yet again to the first window. The lady looked at me funny and I said, "Different credit card." She smiled and then said, "Declined." I said, "What?" She said, "Declined." That is when I lost it. Hyperventilating sobbing. In the McDonald's drive-thru. With my two baby boys in the back seat. I let go one blood-curdling scream and made my way out of the line. Again.

Total and Complete Humiliation. I have known thee.

Horrible

2009-10-26T11:59:00.000-07:00

She's 57. She's only 57.
"I'm 57, Rebecca! I still have a life to lead. I'm only 57!"

This is horrible. She is so angry with me. She has resorted to lying and begging and yelling. What am I to do but protect her body from her mind in the best way I know how to? This is horrible.

Forgive me for not returning phone calls. Forgive me for not blogging. Please. I have my thick soul shell up. I can't cry yet, so I can't talk to you Sweet People who love me so, yet. Know that I love you and am grateful for your attention. Don't give up on me.

A Place for Mom

2009-10-19T13:57:00.000-07:00

"Senior Community" shopping. For a 57 year-old snob. I'm 31. Here's the rub.

On Tuesday the 13th, I called her at her house. I couldn't understand much of what she was saying. She wasn't completing sentences. She was talking about people that I don't know. She was abrasive and impatient when I questioned her about her state of mind. Then the fire alarm started. She was totally confused, babbling about the burglar alarm and someone named Greg. She hung up on me. Pensacola 911 connected me with her local Police Department. While I was on the phone with them, her fire monitoring system called and requested that units be sent to her house immediately.

She was taken by ambulance to the ER for "general disorientation." She was admitted as procedure dictates for observation following smoke inhalation. She is still there because she's nuts.

My mother has been a headcase for as long as I've been alive. No, I wasn't a trying baby. I'm sure her troubles started long ago; I can only bear witness though, for the last couple of decades. When I say "headcase" I mean that she has psychological and neurological issues with medical records so vast that they could only be transported by a fleet of 18-wheelers, an aircraft carrier or all the pack animals in the world.

She has hydrocephalus (too much fluid on her brain), clinical depression with an extensive history of suicide attempts, intense and unresolved migraine headaches, a degenerative bone condition, morbid obesity, the symptoms of early onset Alzheimer's including memory and balance problems. (For the record, she couldn't remember a series of 3 words for more than 3 minutes but she did know the names of The Real Housewives of New Jersey.) She doesn't eat properly, sleep properly, exercise at all, or treat people with anything resembling respect, kindness or compassion. Did I mention that she herself is a Doctor? As if all of the above isn't enough, she's fucking brilliant.

So tell me, if you can, how in the hell am I going to get her into an assisted living facility that usually only takes people 62 years and older in near perfect health? And if I manage that charade, how am I going to afford to keep her in there when she (wonder of all wonders) lives for another 30 years? And how is she not going to get herself kicked out for being a total bitch (Just this week she asked a poor tech trying to start an IV if he was having an attitude with her because she's a doctor.)

And what sin or as is more probable, sins have I committed to deserve this? I know, I know - This isn't about me. It's about finding a safe place for a smart, savvy and somewhat capable person to thrive.

I feel like my life once again is at the mercy of her every whim. As an only child, what else am I to do but come running most every time she calls? There's NO ONE ELSE - so please, please don't suggest that I call her bluff for attention, or ostracize her for bad behavior. I've tried everything - remember this has been going on my entire life. She is truly ill and truly needs serious help. But that has been true for a very long time.

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My Friends, My Everyday Heroes

2009-10-13T06:24:00.000-07:00

I've been absent from Blogland for weeks now. I've missed you, Family. Yes, I've been busy - sick kids, a fabulous vacation, a school carnival and more sick kids. I've also been a little depressed. Silly stuff mostly, old stuff, stuff that gets in my way and should have been handled and properly grieved about forever ago. Whatever.

Boy did I choose a big day to come home to Blogland! I'm sure that I've missed tons of stuff, and it will take me a year of Sundays to catch up. But I did want to take a moment to highlight a few beautiful women doing beautiful things with their beautiful souls and energies.

And I guess it's time to reveal the source of my quirky wisdom. The Persistence of Yellow by Monique Duval. You've seen me and Dawn and Amy quote it. It's fabulous. Everyone of you, Sweet Friends, needs this book. I wish I could send one to all of you.

Camlin - Once upon a time, a girl prayed for true love. Her prayer was answered. She learned to love herself.

Rocket - As she was singing her own special rendition of 'I Did It My Way,' an angel appeared to her and threw finely chopped colored paper about her head in celebration.

Amy - Once upon a time, she decided to follow her heart. She flung off her pinstriped suit and gave birth to herself. A new self. Her true self.

I love you guys! You're inspiring.

I'm in the middle. You guys can row.

2009-10-11T16:46:00.000-07:00

"They are inseparable. Yesterday, the three of them decided to have a hot peppermint tea party in the middle of the lake while sitting in a canoe and worried that their lives were becoming predictable."

#141

San Diego: Love, Love, Love

2009-10-06T17:29:00.000-07:00

Love on a String

Love Reflected

The Love of Family

Sweet Love

True Love

Love that Stands the Test of Time

Refocksa Love

Silly Love

Young Love

I miss you already, Sweet Friends.

How about Christmas on the Beach?

Aneke's Coming Out Party!

2009-09-20T06:27:00.000-07:00

If you haven't already, go over to a brand new blog by our new friend, Aneke. She's been lurking around the Refocksa girls for several months and finally reached out to me via email. She is awesome! Dawn and I have exchanged MANY emails back and forth (all the way to South Africa!) with her. She is looking forward to being a part of our Refocksa community.

Things You Can Accomplish While Stuck in a Bed for 3 Days and I'm Not Done Yet!

2009-09-16T16:45:00.000-07:00

1. You can overhaul the way your child's classroom orders books.

2. You can read at least 1000 pages of well, anything. I read some adult fiction (not mature fiction, Dawg), some non-fiction on the Bronx Zoo, some young adult fiction b/c I ran out of adult fiction, and some old fliers from the school that I found on the floor.

3. You can register to take the Mensa test. You can take as many practice tests as your virus-infected brain can stand.

4. You can shop and shop and shop until you know exactly what to convince your kids to want for Christmas. Then you can write to interested parties with links to all of the items.

5. You can perfect your dream queue on Netflix.

Ready for my favorite?

6. You can be ordained by the Universal Life Church and be completely legal to officiate weddings, funerals and baptisms.

True story - I can absolve you of sin and perform exorcisms, too! Who's first?

What could I possibly get into tomorrow?

I Can't Remember the Last Time I Watched 3 Movies in One Day, None of Which Featured a Talking Animal

2009-09-15T13:15:00.000-07:00

Movie Review of the Day #1:
Notes on a Scandal - Lesbian/Geriatric/Pediophilia Fatal Attraction. If none of that disgusts you, this may be just the flick for you. Cate Blanchett and Judi Dench - I would probably enjoy watching them watch grass grow, so for me it was a win-win. Very dramatic, very creepy. If you're wondering whether to shake off someone in your life that may be a stalker, this one will convince you that yes, IT IS TIME.

Movie Review of the Day #2:
Who is Cletis Tout? - Movie within a Movie. Crime Caper. HILARIOUS! Stars my childhood hearthrob Christian Slater and Mrs. Ellen Degeneres, Portia de Rossi. (Jude! She fires a gun.) Tim Allen plays a hitman - it's funny already, right?

This is the opening dialogue between 2 Mafia Thugs.

Thug 1 - Oh... what's the name of that Burt Reynolds picture with the banjo?

Thug 2 - Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah that one with that retarded kid. He was good, that guy.

Thug 1 - Yeah, he was good. "Deliverance." Coupla nights ago, me and Denise we popped that into the DVD. We're about an hour into this thing and I start thinking to myself "this story ain't very realistic." You're a lonely mountain man. They're destroying your home. They've taken your job. There is no place to set your still. You are angry- they've destroyed everything that validates your manhood. You're confused; your sexuality is in question. You decide you're going to hit for the other side. You want yourself some man meat- I can understand that- but wouldn't you wait for Burt Reynolds to come downriver?

Movie Review of the Day #3:
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind - Brilliant! If I had been on some Nyquil or maybe something a little less legal, it would have been really amazing. Jim Carrey who I normally despise didn't annoy me at all and the always lovely Kate Winslett was all but insane and still fabulous and lovely and all things good. I like that she keeps her weight up. She's a real person.

It would be near impossible to give you a synopsis. Suffice it to say that it is about what happens when you try to forget the most important person in your life. It has the flashback/out-of-chronological-order thing of Pulp Fiction. Just go with it, don't try to figure it out. The end wraps up nicely.

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View from a Jail Cell

2009-09-15T09:56:00.000-07:00

Granted, it's a very comfortable jail cell. (When I was a kid in Missisippi, "jail" and "cell" rhymed. They both had 2 syllables.) And when I went for my shower I didn't drop the soap. Good thing since I can't lean over to pick it up. Dawn says my quarantine is even worse than jail because even convicts get to go outside.

So far, my favorite thing about being sequestered is watching Dawn chase me around with the Lysol spray. When I have to leave my cell to go potty, which is pretty often unfortunately, she comes with me and takes mental notes on everything that I touch. When I'm done, she hoses everything down. Then she follows me back to the cell and hoses the doorknob and the doorframe and the lightswitch. When she misses a bathroom break, it's fun to tell her that I licked something and I'm not telling what it is.

While I took my aforementioned shower today, she changed the sheets in my cell. She put on my favorite quilt. It's my favorite mostly because my mother hates it. I got it as a wedding gift and used it in the guest room of our first house. I guess the quality is just really poor or maybe my laundry skills were not quite up to par but the damn thing quickly became ratty and torn. That didn't bother me in the least. To me it looked more quiltish and less Clearance-Bin-at-the-JCPenney which I knew it to be. My mother, though, hated it. Hates it still. I make it a point to put it on her bed whenever she comes. It's soft and cozy and good for being sick in.

She also changed to more comforting pillow cases. Dammit, Rocket, Amy and Laura Lee! There's no need to interrupt, but yes that is the $80 pillow cleverly disguised as a Raggedy Ann heirloom.

I changed into my favorite jams. Obnoxious purple pants and . . .

Except when her greeenst thing is coming out of her . . . well, you know.

If I look up, which kind of hurts since I've got what I think is a 2 by 4 for a spine, I can see Africa.

If I look left, I can see my window and the vines that we let take over our house and the rain chain. See, Ms. Moon?!

If I look to the right, I see this concoction of 7Up and Gatorade that Dawn keeps lovingly bringing to me. Think that color might have anything to do with the greenness I mentioned above?

And here's my forward view. That's a stack of movies I'm to conquer today. Yesterday I read every book in our house that I hadn't read or tried to read before. That came to about 624 pages. No more reading today. Ironically, though, those other stacks are the Scholastic Book Orders for the school. No rest for the weary, I tell ya.

I've been thinking about doorbells today. I'll save it for later, though.

Thanks for your well wishes, friends. If anybody has a kit for a full blood panel just laying around, let us know!

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Reason Number 587 to Take Up Lesbianism

2009-09-14T14:37:00.000-07:00

Of the 76 verified Super-Centenarians (people who have lived to be 110 years old) currently living, only 4 are men.

Feminism is the theory; lesbianism is the practice. Ti-Grace Atkinson

Lovers Potatoes

2009-09-13T12:45:00.000-07:00

Dawn hates potatoes in any form other than french fries. She said she and her brother would dig them from the ground when they were kids and eat them raw. She says they would sneak down to the cellar in the wintertime in North Dakota and eat them raw from the huge pile they kept down there. Maybe she just got her lifetime quota of potatoes before she turned 10.

Because she never ate them as an adult, she also didn't cook them much. She has linked her life with mine, though and my life requires potatoes. Dawn has fed me so many terrible potatoes in her quest to fill my potato needs. She has finally gotten it just right. They are buttery and garlicy and salty and delicious. She calls them Lovers Potatoes.

She loves me and I know it. I've never been surer of anything else.

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You're Not Sick of Beach Pictures, Are You?

2009-09-09T17:10:00.000-07:00

Super Cool Jellyfish

Super Cool Mom

Super Cool William Surfing the Perfect Wave

Faith Diving for Super Cool Shells

Super Cool

Super Cool Chick Thinks She's Super Funny

Super Cool Googles

We Thought This Guy Was Super Cool, Too.

I'm Never Going to Get Tired of These Pictures.

21 Hours in the Car and I Didn't Shake Anyone or Things that I Like

2009-09-08T08:05:00.000-07:00

We do a good bit of traveling around to people's houses. It's always better for us to go to a house that has kids already. Our hosts know what to expect. A random throw-up, toilets left unflushed, 127 questions about nothing. I guess the plethora of dogs warmed in Rocket and G, because neither of them flinched when our crew got out and ran in and explored. Rocket and Amy both spoke to our children like they are real people instead of some mutant breed of alien that only understands monosyllabic words spoken at a deafening volume. We like that.

We like people that like to hang out at home, that don't need constant entertainment, that can sit around and carry on a conversation. We especially like it when they like to sit around a fire. Amy and I built the fire, by the way. Dawn just swooped in at the end and made it look special. It was like the nurse that sits by a laboring woman all day. She turns her, encourages her, keeps her from killing her husband only to have the doctor rush in at the last minute, catch the baby and sign his name to the birth certificate claiming to have been the "birth attendant."

We also like people that cook good food. G had that covered. Burgers, hotdogs, brats, shrimp, crablegs. For real.

We like folks that share our basic outlook on life. Live and let live. Love the lonely and helpless. Laugh. Laugh. Laugh. There was plenty of that. Amy the husband, Ray and his mustache, the welcoming maxi pad, the brother who gets tattoos and applause. What was remarkable about all the hilarity is that it should have been embarrassing in front of people that you've only known for a few hours. But we have known each other for much longer, haven't we?

These girls are just who they are in Blogland. No alter egos. No smoke blowing. No bullshit. What you see is what you get. And it is all awesome. You'll never meet a bigger heart than Amy's. You'll never meet a purer soul than Rocket's.

And you all know how I adore Dawn, but I have to go on and on. I can't help myself. I love to watch her in a group of people. She has a calming nature, made more incredible considering her ADD. People like her. She asks good questions and cares enough about the answer to listen, but not enough to judge or second-guess. She's funny. Magnetic. And she looks at me and sees me and likes me the most. And I like that.

Amy, my dear husband - the kids are planning your move to Florida. They can be very persuasive. It's probably better to cease resisting. You play Legos and you're good at it, according to Storm. That's high praise.

Rocket/Lightning/Roxanne - the kids want to come back when it snows. Got a sled? And Storm wants to see your tattoos. He said he didn't notice. (!?!)

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Rainy Morning

2009-09-05T09:40:00.000-07:00

I always think of this song when it rains.

I didn't see that coming . . .

2009-09-04T07:25:00.000-07:00

Remember how I stole my Mom's car? That was a month ago. I still had it up until last night at about 10:00. That's when my mother knocked on my front door, totally unannounced. She had her loyal houseman Juan with her. They were here for the car.

She was dressed to the nines, very chipper and acting as though nothing is wrong between us. At some point she threatened to spank me. I don't know what that's about.

They drank a glass of water and headed out, bound for Jackson, MS which is about 4.5 hours away. Dawn and I got in bed. About 20 minutes later, another knock on the door. She was back. She had lost Juan who was driving the rental car that still had her purse and cell phone in it. She couldn't remember his cell phone number. Dawn had to go handle that one. I was close to combustion.

Dawn called her this morning. She said they made it back at about 4 a.m. No idea what took them so long.

What the Fuck!?

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Windows

2009-09-01T16:46:00.000-07:00

Let me preface all of this by saying that I grew up with 2 doctors. Grown-ups always said dumb stuff like, "Well, I guess you'll be a doctor someday, too, huh?" No. Absolutely not. The hours suck. The stress is outrageous. The ego-trip is unbearable. Nope. Negative. Not for me.

I was also jaded by sometimes painful, sometimes careless experiences and a one time near deadly one. My birth experiences were less than mother-centered. In short, I have a less than cozy relationship with Western Medicine. And still I was a little skeptical about iridology.

But Curious swore by it. She wouldn't shut up about Dr. Hill. Her kid has had near constant ear infections since birth. He's had surgery after surgery and finally experinced hearing loss. He's 9. She took him to Dr. Hill who has a Ph.D. in Alternative Medicine. He practices at a desk in a Health Food Store in a little country suburb of Pensacola. He has cured Curious's son. For the first time in his life he doesn't have fluid in his ears and has just passed a hearing test with perfect hearing. Wow. OK. I'll try it.

Since I don't have health insurance and haven't been to a doctor in almost 3 years, I figured a healer was as good as I was going to get anyway. What the hell.

To say that I am astounded, sold, in love with Dr. Hill is a total understatement. He is a miracle worker and an angel on Earth. BECCA LOVES IRIDOLOGY.

It went like this. I got there and sat next to him at his little desk. He asked me nothing. NOTHING. He looked in my eyes using a magnifying glass and a pen light. He "mapped" my eyes out on a chart. This took about 15 minutes or so.

SPOILER ALERT: If you don't want to hear about my medical history, stop reading now.

He sat back, looked at the chart and said, "Tell me about the trouble with your breasts." OK. I was diagnosed with Juvenile Papilomitosis when I was a teen-ager. That's just a fancy word for fibrous masses that come and go with your menstrual cycle. He said that he could see several small ones in my left and 1 big one in my right. And that is correct, ladies and gentlemen.

Then he said, "What happened to your right hip?" I was quickly becoming a believer. Well, after carrying 2 very large babies in my relatively small body, my hip comes out of joint on a regular basis. He asked me how much pain this caused me. I kind of shrugged, as if to say whatever or not enough to slow me down.

And then he said a phrase that will stick with me for quite a while. He looked me right in my eyes and said in a very sincere and calming voice, "Pain is pretty relative for you, though, isn't it?" I knew by the way he looked at me and the way that he said it that he knew. He knew about my tallest mountain. My greatest obstacle. My Herculean task. I started crying and he handed me a Kleenex.

He said, "Were you hit with a baseball bat or a car?" I kind of laughed. He said, "It had to be something like that. It's the worst back injury I've ever seen in anyone that can still walk." So I told him. When I was 15, I fell down a flight of stairs. I did one flip and then bounced all the way down on my butt. He said, "Is that how you broke your tailbone?" I told him that I had never broken my tailbone. Dr. Hill smiled and said, "Yes, you did. And now you have a bone spur where it healed improperly. That bone spur has rubbed away the coating on your sciatic nerve. It's exposed now." And that all makes sense. Why the pregnancies were excrutiating at times. Why sitting for any length of time or standing for any length of time is very uncomfortable. Why sleep comes only in spurts.

He got out anatomical charts and showed me exactly what is broken, for lack of a better word. He explained why I hurt where I hurt. He spoke to me in English and not the medical jargon mumbo jumbo bullshit that I've been hearing for 15 years. He hugged me, cried with me, and took my face in his hands and promised to help me.

I came home with a bag full of vitamins, herbs and supplements. Dawn helped me organize and label everything when I got here. I'm ecstatic. Naysayers, keep your mouths shut. I don't want to hear it. This is the only ray of hope I've had in at least 6 years. I promise to keep you updated. And I promise to hear you out if I don't get better or God forbid, I get worse.

Send good vibes my way, Friends. Hope. After walking around in near constant pain for 15 years, Hope feels really good.

Bacon Boy on Wife Swap

2009-08-31T07:00:00.000-07:00

I ran across this on YouTube and had to share it. This is hilarious!

More Tide Pool Pictures

2009-08-30T05:43:00.000-07:00

Margo takes beautiful pictures. I wish on everything holy that she would do something with this talent, something that makes money, I mean. She's especially good with children. She can get kids to make the perfect face. I also wish I felt more comfortable with showing you examples of those perfect faces but, alas we don't live in a perfect world.

When she posted pictures from the tide pool (speaking of perfect), she left out some of my favorites.

I swear Ray is one of the funniest people that has ever stomped this planet.

Yee-Haw!

2009-08-29T06:32:00.000-07:00

I'm not cured, but certainly better. I can still feel the catch in my back, but the horrible stabbing lightning strike of pain associated with that catch yesterday is all gone. As my friend Curious would say, "I've got a hitch in my giddy-up."

Dawn's at work, so the kids and I are going to load up in the Old Slow Coach and see if we can find any yard sales. Then we're going to the Used Book Store to sell our finds and hunt for treasures. I LOVE the Used Book Store, which refers to itself as an Index which makes me love it even more. Index is much more romantic than Used. Doesn't it call to mind a dusty forgotten library where our hero finds the last of the clues that will deliver the world from certain evil? Yes, it does.

Fall has started straining at the womb that Summer has made for it. She will soon be here, and we will hang orange garlands to celebrate. Until then, I hope you all enjoy a restful Saturday! Don't forget to revel in the last days of Summer. In a few months, we'll all be bitching about how cold it is.

Debilitated, Damn it

2009-08-28T16:18:00.000-07:00

I have hurt my back. I'm not sure how badly yet, we'll see. When we got home from picking up the kids from school, Dawn parked on the street and hopped out and ran into the house because she had to poop. The 3 little kids and I were left to carry in a few odds and ends. I'm in charge of the Scholastic Book Orders for Ray's classroom which involves putting together fliers which are bundled in big blocks. While simultaneously trying to keep the kids out of the street and gather the bundles and the small bag of groceries, I heard and felt something pop. Pain, immediately. I sort of collapsed onto the car seat and told Faith and William to go and get Dawn right now.

Several minutes of pretty severe pain later and still no Dawn, I managed to find one of the cell phones on the floor of the car. I called the house. She was laughing when she answered, "Yes?" She came running. She carried me into the house which is no fall feat considering that our driveway has a pretty substantial slope and there are several steps up to the porch and then several steps down into the den. She said she never saw Faith, and William came in singing, "It's a Small World." Thank God for Cell Phones.

So now I'm confined to the bed. Dawn is very sweet to me. She's got me set up with the laptop and has even gotten it rigged up so it's not burning the skin off of my legs. She changes out my ice packs regularly. And when I threaten to get up and help with the nighttime routine, she reminds me that she has to go to work tomorrow and that I HAVE to rest and get better or the children will burn the place down in the morning and I'll have a hard time getting myself out a window to escape. sigh.

I HATE being immobile and useless.

She's been giving me regular updates on the kids, the hysterical kids. She said William left his shoes right in the middle of the kitchen floor. When she asked him to pick them up, he said, "OK, as soon as you give me some cash." What the hell?

Ray comes in to check on me and put his little chicken head on me. A few minutes ago, he came in with chocolate in the corners of his mouth. I asked him if he had cookies for dessert. He said, "Yep. All done. My mouf" and then opened up to show me the Oreos ground into his precious teeth. Lord, how I love this baby.

I can hear the kids running up and down the hallway. Sometimes I can figure out the gists of their games. Sometimes I just catch a few words, "Charge!" and "You're under arrest!" Lord, how I love these kids.

It's strange to experience my life from behind a door.

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Thursdays' Treasures

2009-08-27T14:29:00.000-07:00

It's been a rocky couple of days. Lots of high highs and a few low lows. I'm pretty tired. On these days it's the little things that really count. So here's my list of the Little Things that Make Me Feel Rich.

1) A brand new fridge pack of Caffeine-Free Diet Coke. Oh, the Luxury!

2) A shared snack of chips and salsa. Faith and I looked at catalogs while we slurped and crunched. She's chosen a most horrible costume for Halloween, but she has a fabulous giggle.

3) Ray's hugs - His little chicken arms are so skinny and cool. He wraps them around my neck and squeezes, and nothing could ever be wrong in my world.

4) Curbside Recycling - The Fair City of Pensacola has finally seen fit to pick up Recyclables. I have a special bin and everything.

5) Unlimited Long-Distance - And it's really come in handy here recently:) The Circle of Love expands and unlike a balloon only gets stronger when it gets bigger. Thank Goodness.

In Respect of a Great Man

2009-08-26T18:35:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: I have an unabashed obsession with the Kennedys. I forgive their faults and wrong-doings and celebrate their victories. I am totally convinced that they as a family have affected far more good than the individuals have committed wrong.

I think I have a unique perspective on the Kennedys and what they have meant to America and what they continue to stand for. My father was 12 when President Kennedy was killed. My father lived in the Mississippi Delta, which is to say that his mother's family had lived there for generations. He was entrenched in the culture of 1960s racial politics. Of course, to a 12 year-old, it was simply his daily life. President Kennedy was going to integrate the schools, by force if necessary. It was a welcome fight in rural Mississippi. He certainly didn't understand the enormity of the moment that he was experiencing. What he recalls is this -

He was sitting in the bleachers of the gymnasium at school. He must have been adjusting his sneakers because everyone else was already on the gym floor. An announcement came over the PA system, "President Kennedy has been shot and killed today in Dallas, TX." He says that he looked up and saw the gymnasium erupt in applause and cheering and high-fives. Something about the exuberance struck him as wrong, but he was quickly caught up in it. School let out so that the children could go home and celebrate with their families.

He went home with his friend, Thumper who had always been called Thumper, and never by his given name. The boys walked through the back door to find Thumper's mother busy in the kitchen. Thumper rejoiced, "Yeah! Somebody finally got that bastard!" Thumper's mother responded sharply, "That is quite enough, Hamilton." Those are the only words in pseudo-respect for our President that my father heard in the days after.

This really stuck with my father. In his adulthood, he has read every book, seen every documentary and researched primary sources from the President's assassination in broad daylight in one of our nation's largest cities. He is far from a conspiracy theorist. The facts, Ma'am, just the facts. He's my guy Friday.

I spent my teen years which saw the release of Oliver Stone's movie JFK idealizing my father's interest. I imagined him as a great, unheralded detective - the one who would uncover the truth and bring the killer to justice. Quite a romantic vision.

I joined in the quest. I wrote essays and exploratory letters to the Library of Congress. I urged my dad to do the same. I was JUST SURE that the secret files would be opened to the 2 of us if we could just reach the right person - the sympathetic ear of a lowly archivist who shared the passion. I was a moron.

In my adult years, I have educated myself about the history of the Kennedy family. I have acquainted myself with the ins and outs of individuals, and joined the causes of the ones who shone. I have taken days from work to mourn the crash of JFK Jr., and his beautiful wife and the passing of his mythical mother. Just recently I have reached out to a virtual stranger for comfort in the death of President Kennedy's sister, Mrs. Shriver. I asked her for and got affirmation that yes, there are people in America that remember and revere the golden days of Camelot and what could have been.

And now Senator Kennedy has passed, peacefully, as I understand it. For that I am grateful. Our nation today has lost a great man, the ultimate citizen, a lion of a statesman - one who took and held close and defended unapologetically stances that were not entirely popular. He did it with grace and composure and respect. On NPR this afternoon, I heard Senator Kennedy's biographer say something very close to this - "If you asked all 100 Senators who the toughest legislator in the Senate is, 99 of them would say, 'Senator Kennedy." He went on to say that Senator Kennedy, who comes from the most charismatic family in United States political history, managed to be boring. "And that is a good thing."

The biographer related a story from Senator Kennedy's first campaign. He was seeking to fill his newly elected brother's vacant seat in the Senate. A poor farmer came up to him after a speech and said something like, "What do you know? You've never worked a day in your life." And the then, Mr. Kennedy replied, "Well, yes, I guess you could say that." The farmer shook his hand and said, "You're not missing a thing."

Our nation has lost a great man. And our community of Gay, Lesbian, Bi-Sexual and Transgendered kin has lost a friend and great ally. I am truly grieved.

Senator Kennedy will lie in repose in the Kennedy Library until he is laid to rest on Saturday in Arlington National Cemetery where he will join his brothers who went before.

I imagine that the Eternal Flame will burn ever brighter.

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Stop with the Memes! I mean, after you do mine, of course.

2009-08-25T20:06:00.000-07:00

Sweet People Who Tag Me with Memes, please know that I love you and appreciate your interest in me. However, I have to say that I honestly don't give a rat's ass who your favorite movie star is. And what's more is that I don't believe that you actually care who my favorite movie star is.

I know I'm being blasphemous, but I'm sort of on a roll these days. (I recently made a fervent Baptist choke on her lifesaver when I said, "I hate the Reverand Lou Dobson.")

In pseudo-protest of the recent slew of memes, I have decided to post and challenge you chosen few to a real confessional.

Are you ready? (At Ole Miss, we responded, "Hell Yes! Damn Right! Hotty Toddy, Gosh Almighty! Who the Hell Are We? Hey! Flim Flam Bim Bam, Ole Miss, by Damn!) And I digress.

1) Why are you here, right now, at my site? And don't be cute. Tell the truth.

2) What is something that you left undone today? Why did you leave it, and what is the consequence?

3) If you saw a child about to lick a cut lemon, what would you do? Again, don't be cute.

4) Willie Nelson. Backwoods Redneck or God Among Men?

5) If I asked your Momma, "What is the greatest thing that you taught your child?" what would she say?

6) Recently, you saw something fabulous. What was it?

7) Have you ever "almost died"? If yes, how?

8) Halloween or the 4th of July?

9) Everyone has something memorized. What do you have memorized? Your PIN is not an acceptable answer.

10) If you had to be homeless in a U.S. city for one year, which city would you choose, and why?

I challenge these women to enter the confessional -

Lesbo

Dragon

Margo

Amy

Rocket

Kimber

Jude

Dawg

Solo

There are no rules.

Forever Young

2009-08-24T14:41:00.000-07:00

The First Day of School is always emotional for me.

Sorry about the whole diaper thing.

Propane's Warm and Fuzzy Award

2009-08-22T17:27:00.000-07:00

And there are 3 rules.... Link back to the person who gave it to you, give the award to 10 people, and tell 10 things about yourself. So typical . . . I get an "award" with strings attached :) I'll take it . . . you knew I would. Thanks, Moonshine.

10 people? I'd have to get out more. And since I was not on the 1st tier of recipients, some of the people I would award have already been awarded. So I'm going to disregard that fact and re-bestow the award.

1) Jude - Loves me some Jude! Who doesn't? Honestly, is there a single one of you who doesn't want to dry hump Jude? I dare you to show your face.

2) Ms. Moon - I know, I know. You're all all done with the forced voyeurism on my intense adoration of Ms. Moon. But seriously, y'all, she is wise. If you have resisted her thus far, be done. Relinquinsh your soul-care to Ms. Moon. You'll feel better soon.

3) Downtown Guy - She has offspring. Yes, he's Ms. Moon's kid in Real Life. He's eloquent and brilliant and loves some biscuits and gravy. AND he knows the worst name you could name a child without naming them something overtly obscene. Interesting, very interesting.

4) Solo - She lets me call her Maureen. She coaches all of us to be better and stronger. And she's in love - as if she couldn't get more adorable. I'm so happy for you, Maureen.

5) Rocket - I believe she's gotten this award from everyone that I've seen give it out, and who am I to buck tradition? She had the fortitude and heart of a true friend strong enough to pull her into her dear friend's estate sale. And then had the courage and clarity to share it with us. Did I mention how phenomenally talented she is?

6) G - Her posts are less than regular here recently, but worth the wait - I promise. She has a way with self-reflection that makes you run for a mirror.

7) Dena - She's the coolest straight girl I know, and she's threatening to come and visit me. Lord, I hope she does. This lady is funnier than all of us combined. And that's something.

So that's it. Go forth and multiply.

I suppose that since I only gave the award to 7 people that I only get to tell you 7 things about myself. God knows how I love to talk about myself, so this is taking true restraint.

1) My fingernails are remarkably strong. I can't cut them myself - Dawn does it for me while I cringe.

2) I have an unhealthy obsession with The Real Housewives of Anywhere. I especially love NeNe.

3) In our den, we have a vintage travel poster from every state that allows same-sex marriage. There's plenty of room left.

4) I know a very lengthy poem, The Shooting of Dan McGrew, by heart. There's hardly any way that the San Diego crew is getting out of hearing it - I do it best with several drinks in me.

5) I have an eyelash on my left eye that grows in totally white. I have no idea why.

6) I had New Year's Eve twice one year because I flew to Hawaii from Australia and crossed the International Dateline.

7) I was almost killed by a home-run. Brian Jordan hit one out while I was just settling myself and my brand new 32 oz. beer onto the green green grass in the outfield of the Braves Spring Training facility in Orlando. Instead of being struck in the head, I was tackled by a 300+ lb man who caught the ball. My beer spilled. I was pissed. The man next to me helped me up and bought me a new cup of frothy deliciousness. I was NOT on ESPN.

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Thursdays' Treasures

2009-08-21T06:20:00.000-07:00

I have been negligent about posting my Thankful Thursdays or Things That Make Me Feel Rich. Maybe that's why I haven't been feeling so rich here lately.

1) My children's school - School starts on Monday. I spent a good bit of yesterday in the classrooms and getting things together. I hadn't realized that I missed the people there over the summer. They are an amazing group of women who have come together with the noblest of intentions - the respectful nurturing of a child's innate curiosity. They do it with warmth, gentle and quiet words and easy smiles. This school is easily on the list of the top ten best things that has ever happened to me.

2) Tax Returns - Dawn just had her taxes done and got a whopper of a return. We were able to pay off a good bit of the yearly school bill. The monthly bill will be significantly less than last year which means that I won't be sweating so profusely on the 14th of every month.

3) Good Coffee - I make a great cup of coffee, mostly because I buy really good coffee (on sale, of course). I like thinking about the lives of the coffeepickers and wonder if they think about the lives of the coffeedrinkers and if either of us is even close to imagining the other's life as it actually is.

4) Lightning at Bedtime - Our window faces East. We lay in the darkness last night, snuggled together watching for, waiting for and ahhhhhing when the lightning struck and lit up the room. She is beautiful in lightning light.

5) Books and Children Who Love to Read - Faith and William and I have read through #14 in the Magic Tree House series this summer. Dawn has read Runaway Ralph by Beverly Cleary to anyone who would listen. Bedtime Stories is a most precious time of our days. I especially cherish the nights that William falls asleep next to me in the glow from the aquarium, just pages away from the end of the book.

Addendum - William has been especially loquacious this summer, as I have noted here before. He has just now said something perfect, and I had to come back and include it here. He asked Dawn if he could use the flashlight he found when we go to the beach tonight. Dawn said, "We're going to the beach tonight?" He said, "Yeah, to check on the moon."

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Mystery Solved - Part II

2009-08-19T17:59:00.000-07:00

This always happens to me when I begin a story in parts - my days are so full of noteworthy happenings that I have a hard time getting back to the the original story. I had intentions of sharing insights gleaned while spending time with my birth family. I had revelations if not epiphanies. But that was days ago and I have stuff to do, so I'm just going to sum up and explain the title. You won't hold it against me, will you?

Why can't I help but believe that Amy has that terrible song, "If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?" going through her mind?!

My folks split up when I was just a little girl. My mother quickly remarried and took me with her. She and her new husband liked to travel and eat at fabulous places. For as long as I can remember, she has asked the band to play "Darktown Strutters' Ball." It's her song. Everyone knows it. I never thought about how it became her song - it just is.

I sat with my dad while he packed up his things this weekend. I told him that I was at Commander's Palace in New Orleans when I found out that my sister was missing. After we get through that, he said, "I bet your mom has told you this a thousand times . . ." Let me say right here that these are some of my favorite stories. There is a group of people on this planet that know me only as the "miracle baby" because there was a big joke when my folks were dating that they were so different, like a cat and dog, that they couldn't possibly breed and produce viable offspring. Hi.

He told me that back when he was "in his prime" he and my mother were at Commander's Palace and he was "cutting up." He said the bandleader said, "Hey Son, if you ever want a job as a jazz band singer, you come and see me." I asked him if he was full of shit. He said, "No! He was being sincere. I had just finished a mean rendition of Darktown Strutters' Ball."

I gasped and said, "Is that why Momma always requests that song?" He threw his head back, laughed and asked me if I was full of shit. I assured him I wasn't.

So there it is. The answer to the mystery of my mother's favorite song - my daddy sang it way back when and caused a ruckus at Commander's Palace. I like that story.

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Mystery Solved

2009-08-17T11:41:00.000-07:00

This may be a long post. We'll see.

I left Pensacola on Saturday morning with a new book on CD, a travel mug of delicious coffee and a funeral dress I wasn't sure I could zip by myself. I'm such a gambler. After an oil change and a fill-up, I was in line to buy a fountain diet Coke, my crack cocaine. The gentleman in front of me was buying a Natural Light and a Slim Jim. It was about 10:30. It reminded me of my Dad and I had a chuckle.

I finally got on the road. Dawn and I soon had to make rules about talking on the phone. This was supposed to be my return to solitude, you know? Not 5 minutes later and in clear violation of the rules, Dawn called and asked if I noticed anything wrong with William's hair before I left.

"Like what?" I asked.

"Like his bangs" Dawn replied. I told her that yes, actually, I had noticed his bangs were a little wonky but I just thought he was hot and sweaty from playing outside. She did a big sigh and said she would call me back.

The next thing I heard was that they were all loading up to go to Target to buy a pair of clippers - William had, in fact cut his own bangs to the hair line right in the center. Dawn said he looked like he had fangs on the forehead. Another good chuckle.

My book on CD was Hot Mahogany, by Stuart Woods. It's one of the Stone Barrington Series. He is a cad, a NYPD Detective turned semi-slimy attorney. He's adorably arrogant. I read the entire series before I met Dawn. Since then I've given up crime drama books and TV, my past crack cocaine. And I am lighter for it. So Stone really was quite a turn from the norm. I was loving it!
My intention was to go to the Kiss-In in Piedmont Park when I got to town. But because I took my time getting there and ran into stand-still traffic on the outskirts of Atlanta, I thought I should get on to the hotel, get cleaned up and over to the visitation. I checked in right at 4:00 which is when the visitation was scheduled to begin. When I got to the room I dialed Dawn to say I had made it. When she answered I caught sight of the clock on the bedside table - 5:08. FUCK! I forgot about the time change!

I quickly hung up with Dawn and started scrubbing my pits, dry-shaving my legs and painting my big toenail (it was the only one that was going to show in my cha-cha shoes). I slithered into my torture chamber aka girdle and bustier, took a deep breath, prayed to the goddess of fashion aka Jackie O and put the linen LBD over my head. The zipper is on the left side so I reached over and calmy pulled up. So far so good, so far so good. CRAP! A snag, just as I anticipated. Back down. Another breath, another prayer. Retry. Good, good, good. FUCK!

I looked in the mirror and saw the zipper was pulling away from the seam. Panic set in. Sweating began. More panic. Just as I had settled on throwing something, I noticed a little card by the phone. Care line 142. It went something like this - "We here at the Doubletree want your stay to be as carefree as possible. If there is anything, absolutely anything we can do to help you or make your time with us more pleasant, please don't hesitate to call." So I did, and said something like "Hi. I know this is amazingly awkward and embarrassing and I would appreciate it if you remember that it is even more so for me. I cannot zip my dress that I need to wear to a funeral that I am amazingly late for. Could you please send a member of the housekeeping staff up to help me?" He paused, gulped a breath and said, "Wow. OK. OK. Um . . . . Would you prefer a female member of our staff?" I laughed and said that yes, I would.

I poured myself a beer. That seemed like a good idea. I leaned over the desk, stared at myself in the mirror and reflected on how pitiful I was at that moment. Maybe it was the shame, but some kind of lightning bolt struck me. For my last ditch effort, I took the dress off and zipped it all the way up. Then with much grunting, swearing and tugging, I got the damn thing over my head and pulled on over my sizable boobs that I just knew were going to again derail my best intentions. (I have something of a tenuous relationship with my tits.) TA DA!

About that time, the most adorable woman knocked on my door. After I told her that I was in my dress and didn't need her attention, she assured me that she had not drawn the short straw and that my plight was nothing to be embarrassed by. I thanked her for lying to me and sent her on her way.

My arrival at the visitation went without fanfare. My dad introduced me once as his sister and then again as simply, "Rebecca." I was unfazed. After the affair, the directors asked us if we wanted to take any of the flower arrangements with us. My aunt, the widow didn't seem to want to deal with it, but there was no way in hell I was leaving those lilies, so I employed the help of all the penises in the room. They carried them out as I pulled the car around. I pulled random clothes and towels from the trunk and made a layer on the back seat. I instructed my dad on buckling the vases into the seat belts. When we finished, he said, "It seems like this ain't your first rodeo, so you might want to come and check mine."

I adjusted his and we prepared to drive away. Just then, the funeral director came to the car window carrying a leather case. With much reverence, she bowed her head, passed the box to my dad and said, "I'm so sorry for your loss." He thanked her, held the box steady several inches from his lap and turned to me with eyeballs the size of saucers. He said, "What do you think we have here?" I said, "Oh, shit. Do you think that's Mary?" He said in a rather panicked way, "I don't know. Pull over there by Lea Baby. Hurry up."

I did, and he held the box out the window. "Lea! Lea Baby!" She looked over and said, "Do you want me to take that?" He said, "No. I mean, if you want. I just want you to know that we have it. I don't want you getting up the road and peeling back in here to get it." She stared at him and then laughed and then said, "Well hell, Wally, it's not Mary. Is that what you thought?" By now we were all laughing. It was hilarious.

To be continued . . .

Dawn has to harvest Farm Town or she'll waste raspberries. Damn you, Lesbo!

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Alone

2009-08-14T08:17:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow morning I'm driving to Atlanta all by myself. I'm spending one night in a hotel all by myself. At first, that prospect was at best, boring. I wasn't really thinking about the trip at all. I had already made plans for when I get back. And then last night Dawn said, "Is there anything about your trip that you're excited about?" I quickly answered No.

But then I said, "Well, yes, I'm excited about my new book on CD."

And then perfect Dawn goes on to list things I could do in Atlanta before I come home. The one that really piqued my interest was a severely over-priced Heineken enjoyed in front of the whale sharks at the Aquarium. I said, "I can't go to the Aquarium by myself." She asked why not. I didn't have an answer that made any sense.

I have forgotten how to be alone. And what's more, I feel guilty about needing time alone. I know that They with a capital T say that everyone, especially stay-at-home mothers, needs time away. It just doesn't seem feasible or fair. And now that the time is all but forced on me, I have no idea what to do with myself.

Is this how women get to be so boring? By taking no time for themselves? When asked if I'm aware of a current issue or a movie or popular singer I very often reply, "If it doesn't happen on Dora, I don't know about it." It's a joke, but one that today is striking me as rather pathetic.

So, sweet ladies, here's the question - What should I do with my very short time in Atlanta?

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Refocksa Chicks DO IT AGAIN!

2009-08-13T07:29:00.000-07:00

There was some misunderstanding about my post yesterday. I wrestled with it and turned it over in my mind and questioned not only what I had written but also what I really feel about the spending of money. I second guessed myself for a moment.

And then I got Kimber's donation notification. Girls, we have donated 6 Flocks of Chicks!

And then I thought, "Fuck it! Misunderstood or not, it resulted in 4 new happy faces in the world."

And after all, that was my whole point anyway. Be happy, do what you gotta do, by all means. Buying chickens makes me happy, and I'm really happy about that.

Thank you Sweet Friends! YOU make me happy, too!

Health Care: An Oxymoron and other Things That Are Pissing Me Off Today

2009-08-12T09:51:00.000-07:00

And my love affair with Ms. Moon continues . . .

Speaking of the oxymoron, I'm again at Barnes and Noble today trying desperately not to listen to the wingnuts. And again, I'm failing. But I think I did find one of the people that Ms. Moon is asking for. She's at the table behind me, well now she's in front of me because I had to turn around to look at her. She has just made a phone call to a doctor's office to set up a consultation for a "mini facelift." I wonder what that means. Does she have a small face? Does she imagine that gravity has done her less a disservice than others? What I'm sure of is that "mini" has nothing to do with what she will be paying for it.

Whenever I think of people having voluntary surgery, I can't help but think, "I wonder how much that is going to cost. I wonder how many flocks of chickens that would buy. I wonder how many pairs of shoes that would buy. How many vaccines? How many school books? How many mosquito nets?" I hate to be judgemental, I swear I do. But the frivolity and arrogance of many Americans really gets my blood boiling.

I wonder if this woman here, Kathy with a K, has thought about the mosquito nets. And if so, how did she decide that her neck flab was more offensive than the wholly preventable death of a child? How? And if she hasn't thought about the shoes, I say to you "How didn't she?" I find it absolutely impossible to buy anything for myself without thinking about other mothers who cannot. And I'm only buying $19.99 Crocs that are on clearance! How did she buy that Polo shirt and those designer jeans and those snazzy leather flats? My guilt would be crippling if I was shuffling around in those things.

Maybe she is a generous soul. Maybe this neck shrinking is her gift to herself after all the good things she's done this summer. Maybe she just returned from Africa or the 9th Ward or Guatemala. Maybe she has been busy nursing the sick and clothing the poor and shoeing the unshod. She must feel great, really thankful. She has earned this little indulgence, right?

If all of that is true, then she must be well aware of how far a little money will go in these impoverished places. She knows what the Dollar can buy. She knows the difference that the 9 cent vaccine makes in the jungles. But she did good work. The village that she just returned from is a better place now, healthier and cleaner and safer.

But what about the village around the bend? And the one around the next bend? And the child that was 101st on the list of folks to receive the 100 vaccines that she brought with her?

I have to go and buy a flock of chicks now. I thank Kathy with a K for reminding me.

Republicans

2009-08-11T08:38:00.000-07:00

Sweet, sweet Dawn has sent me to Barnes and Noble for some solitude. I have the laptop, my phone and an Iced Mocha. What did I forget? What? Oh! Right. The iPod.

I have an eerie ability to eavesdrop. I can follow several conversations going on around me and not miss a beat in my own conversation. It can be fun, but it is also annoying as hell when I can't turn it off. Today, my brain got trapped a few tables over.

4 slightly older than middle-aged Republicans. 2 couples. Hetero, of course. They were bitching about the Stimulus Package.

"I heard a car dealer the other day saying that he's already collected $150,000 in cash for clunkers vouchers. Of course, he hasn't seen a dime of that money, yet."

Oh, yeah? Well that's because the program just started a week and a half ago. $150,000? He can't wait a few weeks for $150,000? It's a voucher backed by the government of the United States of America. Shut up.

"And now the dealers are having a hard time keeping cars on the lot. What are they to do?"

Oh, yeah? That's a great problem to have, dumbass. The answer? Order more. The dying automobile industry will be more than happy to crank out a few for him. By the way, are you a car dealer? No? Well . . . Shut up.

"And what about the cars that are getting traded in? They're just going to sell those, too."

No, moron. They're not. That would be in violation of the cash for clunkers program, thus negating their handy dandy vouchers. You don't actually know anything about this, do you? So Shut up.

"And what about the ones that won't sell? The junk dealers are just going to love that. Our nation's junk yards and landfills are going to be overflowing with beat up cars."

Actually, no dickfuck, the bleeding heart Dems have an answer for that, too. This administration has an exit strategy for these vehicles. Was that a dig? Yes, and just when I was thinking that maybe you weren't so good with subtlety and I might need to lay it on a little thicker.

And as long as we're talking about the landfills . . .that bottle of water that you're drinking will be there for the next 94 million gazillion years or so. Get a cup, ass wipe. Oh, and Shut up.

And now for my favorite quote of the day -

"You know I saw on CBS the other night about some folks going down off the cape of Africa and going out in a boat to watch sharks eat seals. The sharks jump out of the water and devour poor little seals. I say to you, What is this world coming to when people will pay thousands of dollars to see animals tortured?"

OK. Wow. Hard to know where to start. First of all, you didn't see it on CBS. It was on Discovery. And they're not "sharks." They're GREAT WHITES, the most perfect predator the world has ever known. They have remained largely unchanged for 400 million years. They predate the dinosaurs. They are living breathing fossils. These living breathing fossils weigh up to 5000 lbs and are longer than 4 of you laid tiptoe to stupid bigoted brain. They are so powerful and well adapted that they can propel their massive heft 12 ft from the surface of the water in their pursuit of a seal. Poor seals? Yes, they're cute aren't they? The island that the seals live on, has a population of about 6 million seals. They're OK.

By the way, that turkey croisandwich or whatever yuppie thing you just ate had turkey in it. That's how it got its name. That animal was raised in horrifyingly disgustingly unsanitary conditions. It was probably kept in the dark or blindfolded. When it was time to be "harvested" it was strapped by its feet to a conveyer belt that carried it upside down through a factory where it was plucked and decapitated after it spent the last hour or so of its life hearing the screaming of the ones that went before it.

If it was me, I'd choose being ambushed and swallowed in one big bite everyday and twice on Sundays instead of the horror of life and death in a meat factory, not to mention the indignity of ending up on a plate in front of someone who has no regard for the life that I didn't get to lead. Where is the honor in that?

And one more thing, fuckface, the people that spend the thousands of dollars to witness this miracle of nature are contributing to the conservation of our oceans and its inhabitants. Where do you vacation? I'll bet Cancun or the Bahamas, places that hardly resemble themselves now that the American Bastards (you) have done their Extreme Makeovers. Ancient ruins demolished, reef systems that took 1000s of years to form decimated in decades, native peoples exploited.

So long story short (too late) and not that I would have missed this opportunity to lay your ignorance bare, Fuck off.

.

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My Hidden Talent

2009-08-09T10:14:00.000-07:00

I can't video my Hidden Talent, but I think the stills will suffice.

Lots of people can do this, right?

But can you do this?

My wife loves me, too.

Thanks, Kimber. This has been uberfun!

More Funny William

2009-08-08T16:57:00.000-07:00

No idea what they were talking about but here it is.

Dawn: Do you think that's cool, William?

William: Yeah. Cooler than Flapjacks.

Dawn: Flapjacks?

William: Yeah. That's how you say pancakes in Spanish.

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Red Letter Day

2009-08-08T09:30:00.000-07:00

I wrote to Jude and asked her what she construed as a dumb question. She wrote back to me in Red Letters, as if for emphasis or to say, "Hi. We've already covered this. Keep up, Becca."

Does anyone else find this snippy?

Does she have a mean case of the crotch rot going on? Did Dawg get a hold of her toothbrush? Has Deliverance Man moved in next door? Maybe she is worried that we're going to spend the entire San Diego trip listening to a few resident horn dogs get it on. Trust me, I'm sweating it, too.

What's going on, Sweetie? Perk up or I'll start writing to you in Pink and Purple:)

Come in, Come in!

2009-08-05T15:35:00.000-07:00

Invitation

If you are a dreamer, come in, / If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar, / A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer . . . / If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire / For we have some flax golden tales to spin. Come in! Come in! .Shel Silverstein

Our front door has looked like this since we bought this house a little over 2 years ago. Boring, boring, boring. Very un-us.

Dawn changed that yesterday.

A little backstory first. We, with a lot of help from my mother, bought this house basically blind. It was bulit in 1953 and we are only the second owners. We bought it from the daughter of the previous owners. She had never actually lived here and knew nothing about the house. The disclosure statement was all but blank. We got a great deal.

It's been an adventure. Flooding, vermin, a questionable AC system, to say nothing of the painter who managed to spray the entire house pink.

As Dawn recently told you, it's been a labor of love. I've painted everything that will stand still. We've arranged and rearranged the rooms. We've salvaged shutters, bricks, and furniture. We have poured our life blood into this house to make it our home.

Recently, we thought we were going to have to move to take care of my mom. That may still happen, but for now it's on hold. The joy of staying here for even a little while longer inspired this project.

Dawn painted.

She has a way with trees.

And painted some more.

This is what it looked like when I got home, sweet home.

We fed and bed the kids, had our dinner and went back out on the porch . . .

to paint by lamp light. Shut up! I know it's a flashlight, but lamp light is much more romantic.

Isn't our porch cute?

Dawn's turn again.

Finished project.

A tree house, a free house
A secret you and me house
A high up in the leafy branches
Cozy as can be house

A street house, a neat house
Be sure and wipe your feet house
Is not my kind of house at all -
Let's go live in a tree house.

Shel Silverstein

Red Rover, Red Rover, Anybody want to come over?

Jiggity Jig

2009-08-04T16:54:00.000-07:00

I'm home. I know, it's a little sooner than I anticipated. Dawn's going to have to tell you about that. I'm too tired.

I was only there for about 48 hours, but each one hung heavy. Madison, a northern suburb of Jackson where my mother's house is, has grown up a lot since I left there in 97, so I'm not very comfortable with getting around. All of that was to explain how I ended up at the grocery store .25 mile from my Dad's house instead of the one .25 mile from my mom's house. Honestly that one is only about 2.5 miles from my Dad's house, but every inch counts in this relationship.

I imagined myself alternately as a mouse in a maze and some sort of night-vision-goggle bespecled Special Ops recon scout type. I was armed only with my buggy, a hastily compiled list, and the intense desire to survive a.k.a get the hell out of there with everything on the list and without seeing anyone that I know, or knew as the case certainly is.

I did my dead level best to keep my head down, only lifting my eyes at the top of each aisle to check the item sign and make sure the coast was clear of familiar faces.

By the time I got back to the car and had conned a poor passerby into taking the buggy for me, I was sweating, shaking and hyperventalating. After I wove my way back to my mother's house I opened a beer, lit a cigarette and all but cursed her for forcing me back to this hell-hole of a geographic dot.

God, how I hate Mississippi!

Leave it to my Mom to alienate the last person who gives a rat's ass about her. So I got to come home today. Dawn was happy I was coming, of course. When I got here, she was waiting on the porch with a pair of beers, hanging up with Propane. She had a paint brush in her hand.

Pictures of the complete project tomorrow. If you're prone to vomiting brought on by intense sweetness, skip tomorrow's post.

2 years

2009-08-03T17:24:00.000-07:00

2 years ago today, Dawn and Storm and Faith came home. To stay. William and I went to get them from the airport in the late, humid afternoon. Storm and Faith ran all the way down the terminal. Storm tackled me and Faith tackled her twin. Dawn, weighed down with 2 kids worth of entertainment for an international flight, including 2 carseats, took an eternity to get to me. But when she did, she dropped everything. I'd be lying if I said that she grabbed me first. She, of course, scooped up William and tickled him and turned him upside down and covered him with kisses. Then she grabbed me and enveloped me in a hug remarkably tight for someone who should have been in muscle failure. She picked me up and twirled me around. She looked deep in my eyes while squeezing my face and said, "Take me home."

I confessed this about it just a few days later.

I did once call you my partner.
Strangely enough, I was
Responding to the USO booth lady's
Question,
"Who are you waiting for?"

Seizing my chance though
With great trepidation,
"My partner and my other children."

She politely answered,
"Awww . . . that's nice."
(Though I'm sure she didn't think so.)

I slank (Is that the past tense of
Slink? And if one
Reflects on slinking and so
Requires the past tense, isn't it
Probable that the very act of
Slinking was something else
Entirely?)

Away
As anyone does at the end of
Polite time-passing with
Strangers.

I didn't get to see her see us.

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Truth, Truth and Nothing But

2009-08-02T08:18:00.000-07:00

Here it is. I have to go to Jackson, Mississippi (F*#k!) armed only with a Power of Attorney. I have to take control of my mother's finances, put her house on the market, file her taxes, apply for a mortgage and somehow get her back in the car to bring her back to Florida. I'm doing this because she has just in the last few days revealed that she has been diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer's. Again, F*#k!

Complication: I have to take William and Ray with me because Dawn has been called into work this week. Attorney, Accountant, Banker, Realtor with 2 toddlers in tow.

I sat down with Dawn to try and think of someone that could care for them for a few days.

Options: 1 set of Grandparents live right down the road in the next town. They're out of town until tonight and are somewhat infamous for their lackluster enthusiasm for extended visits from the boys. They're more the get them for the afternoon and bring them home sort. So, moving along.

Option 2: My dad and his wife and their 3 semi-adult children all live in Jackson. Perfect, right? Not so much. I'm pretty much totally estranged from them. (I'm gay. And I divorced a member of the service to be gay. Oh! And my new love interest has 2 brown children. AND as if all of that isn't scandalous enough, Dawn's ethnicity is also in question. You all know about those black folks that live in the frozen tundra of North Dakota, right?)

I finally just cracked up. Dawn said, "What is so funny?" I said, "You want to hear some real shit? Listen to this."

I reviewed for her the above options. We again came to the conclusion that both were no-gos. I said, "We are all but totally surrounded by blood relatives that should be jumping at the chance to have these boys for a few days, but instead I'm over here wondering how much it would cost to fly in Nanny Lesbo or Jude's R from clear across the country. That's messed up."

And that, my friends, is the truth.

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William: Our Comedian

2009-08-01T17:41:00.000-07:00

William called to me from the tub. I walked back there to see what he needed. He was in the tub, crunched up with his knees in his ears holding a toy boat under his feet. He said, "Mom! Look at me riding this tiny vehicle!"

Later tonight, he was sitting with his grandmother watching a cartoon. Out of the blue, he said, "Hey Nana, what's a tornado's favorite snack?" She said, "I don't know. What is a tornado's favorite snack?" He cracked up and said, "Popcorn! Is that funny?"

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My Crusade to Save our Seas: Chapter 2

2009-07-31T08:45:00.000-07:00

OK, Ladies. Here's another plea to sign another petition to save our seas from yet another group of greedy heartless bastards.

The Gulf Council met in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi (!) and set forth a plan to issue permits for off-shore fishing, also called open-ocean aquaculture. (Please pay special attention to the Environmental Impact section.) Essentially what this means is netting a large area of water more than 3 miles off of the coast and breeding and raising certain species of commercially desirable fish, salmon and tilapia are the most common.

I have no illusions that I can stop this practice. What I want to do is to make sure that Congress has the regulatory power instead of the Gulf Council that doesn't have to answer to voters.

Please click the Ocean Conservancy logo on my main page to sign the petition. Thanks -

Makeover

2009-07-30T14:50:00.000-07:00

As you can see, I'm sporting a new look. And a makeover may be just what the doctor ordered for this girl.

As I'm sure you can guess, it's all thanks to Rocket.

She was struck by my ridiculous self-loathing pity party about my Mississippi upbringing. So she emailed us and asked for pictures of my kids' hands, palm up. What she sent back is my new header. There was the sweetest note with it that said something like, "Now nobody is 'white' or 'black'. They're all green martians!"

Is she the best or what?

As if all of that isn't enough, she also spit out that fabulous thing right over there. See it? The Pinkness? Yeah, Baby!

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Since I'm Struggling for Inspiration

2009-07-25T05:34:00.000-07:00

I'll just tell you funny things that my kids say and do.

We have a book called Quiet Loud by Leslie Patricelli. It is a simple board book with one sentence on each page. "Birds are Quiet. Airplanes are Loud." (Clearly the author has not met my Tranny Cockatiels Opie and Lou.) Faith was reading/has the book memorized and was reciting the book in a whisper in the car yesterday. She turned the page and paused. I looked over to see which word had stumped her. "Sniffles." I waited while she thought about it. Finally she said, "Boogers are Quiet. Sneezes are Loud."

Faith walked through the kitchen carrying the fish food. I asked her what she was going to do. (I understand that it should have been clear to me what she was going to do. Right? With my kids it's better to ask. The odds that she said, "I'm going to feed the fish" were as good as the odds that she said something like, "I'm making a collage. I need little yellow flakes to represent the sand.") On this day, though she said, "I'm going to feed the betas." One of the betas is William's fish William. So when William heard her say that, he jumped up, put his hands on his hips, arched his back and buried his blue eyes in a furrowed brow that would make Churchill proud and said, "Nonsense! Only I can feed William!"

Last night, when William asked for dessert I handed him what was left of an Organic White Chocolate bar (YUM!) He took a bite, handed it back to me and said, "I not like it. Let's sell it on eBay."

Storm. Storm. As I noted in an earlier post, Storm is my most loving and most ridiculously difficult child. He has spent most of this week in his room because he refuses to write 20 words a day in cursive. Refuses. Flat out will not do it. He has missed a lunch outing, a trip to Fort Pickens for bike riding, and an episode of The Penguins of Madagascar. Trust me, that's a heartbreaker. This morning he was up to 100 words because he hasn't done it for 5 days. He and Dawn renegotiated. 20 words, 20 math facts, 20 pages of reading from a book of her choice, 20 spelling words to be found in a word search, and 20 something else. She numbered the paper 1 - 20 for the cursive writing. Storm sat down and not 5 minutes later brought me the work. Totally done. In 5 minutes. The words he chose, you ask? That little shit wrote One, Two, Three, Four, Five etc.

Baby Ray came running down the hallway in a total panic. Totally naked. With a massive erection that he was pointing to. He said, "Uh Oh! Uh Oh! Uh Oh!"

Thanks for everyone's sweet words over the past few days. I love you guys.

Thursday's Treasures - If it weren't for you . . .

2009-07-23T19:12:00.000-07:00

It's a strange day to be making a list of things that make me feel rich. I'd like to make a deeply philosophical observation about just how apropos that is, but I'm too tired.

1. Maureen - you said, No! Not on Refocksa's watch!

And I love you.

2. Propane - you said, You're covered.

And I love you.

3. Michelle - you said, I don't have a word of wisdom. That sucks. It really sucks.

And I love you.

4. Ms. Moon - you email me and tell me that I'm full of shit and you send me to Michelle for guidance. And you're in Cozumel being beautiful and happy and fabulous.

And I love you.

5. And Margo. Margo. Regardless of what happens I will always be the richest of the richest for being able to stand beside you everyday.

And I adore you.

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Puppy Love

2009-07-22T16:31:00.000-07:00

While we were "camping" the 3 little kids played this crazy game in which they pretended to be puppies waiting to be adopted. It involved a lot of high-pitched yelping and pawing at our shins for attention. They also "learned" tricks. When the yelping wasn't cranium-piercing, it was pretty cute.

What I find most hilarious is what they named themselves. Faith's dog name is Sparkles. Ray's is Fireworks. And William's? Flat Hair.

How funny is that?

Quiet Time

2009-07-18T14:07:00.000-07:00

My twins, Faith and William are playing in the toy room for Quiet Time right now. They weren't grown in the same belly and they don't have the same blood and they don't have the same birthday. But my twins they are, nonetheless. She is brown-skinned and bossy to his lily-white passiveness. They adore each other.

They are playing a make-believe game that involves a vacation. The destination? Mississippi. I am waiting with trepidation for the day that they realize that one of them is "black" and the other is "white" and that this is only part of the reason that we don't go there to visit my old family who doesn't acknowledge half of my True Family (Again, see how I show respect with capital letters) and so doesn't actually SEE the half that they do acknowledge because "their" half is so in love with the "others." Poor stupid bastards.

Mississippi. What a disaster. I have had such mixed feelings about the place of my origination. Not my birth. I wasn't born (became full of life) until Dawn saw me. Before that I was just a hollow body being magnetically or chemically drawn from stop to stop, like the beginning of the old Oregon Trail game where you go from the general store to the farm to the cart-makers shed until you had all the supplies/experiences that would get me to Fort Rucker, Alabama where she was waiting.

Mississippi. I have no idea what to tell my children, especially my brown children. Will the white-guilt that I was brought up with show on my face and in my words when I am faced with the darkest eyes I've ever seen asking me about the N word or about Ole Miss or about Medgar Evers or God Forbid It!, about myself? How can I possibly explain how I managed to pull myself from the mucky sludgey hypocrisy that is modern Misissippi?

Will I tell them that their little faces sealed the deal? That they are why I will never go back?

Will they look at me differently? Will they look at my mother differently? Is that the day that they will finally be able to pinpoint what her fucking problem is? Oh, God, will they look at their brothers differently and hold them guilty by bloodline?

All this is Ms. Moon's fault. She wrote about that little red-haired baby being so adoptable because he's "white" and "cute." The truth of that pissed me off and made me ashamed again to be who I was and from whom I was from. Shame is such a haunting emotion. It periodically raises its ugly head and stirs my scarred but newly sensible soul into a mid-season tornado of regret, anger and cheap wine. Shit.

Mississippi - My Muddy Monster.

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Damn it!

2009-07-18T06:24:00.000-07:00

My mother asked me if I'm pregnant!

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Finning

2009-07-16T18:19:00.000-07:00

I've given you warm and fuzzy for the last several days. I hope you enjoyed it. Warm and Fuzzy is over, though. Steel yourself.

I spent my childhood and much of my young adulthood petrified of sharks. I saw JAWS too young. I had a pool in my backyard where my older sister insisted on playing Sharks and Minnows. I hated it.

When I was 9, my mother and I went to St. Croix with her new husband and my new step-sisters. We paddled on a raft out past the surf and the sandbars to look for conch shells for which the Virgin Islands are famous. My mother and her demon swam away from me and Brooke who was one year older, leaving us with the raft and responsible for kicking/riding into shore. It's the first memory I have of being quite sure that I was going to die. I was going to be attacked and eaten. I was sure of it, and I hyperventilated and prayed and kicked to make Michael Phelps proud. We made it. But I never really trusted my mother again.

I didn't realize until I got married that I was in the grasps of full-blown phobia. Jack would come home and have to empty the tub because I would plug it, turn the water on, take the bath but be terrified to reach in and pull the chain to let the water out because I had hallucinations of sharks swimming up the drain and into the tub.

I had debilitating anxiety about rainy days and the possibility of having to walk through puddles.

I had bowel problems from hovering over the toilet and pushing too hard and too fast because I was so scared to get my ass too close to the water which was surely teeming with sharks.

I understand now that this is ridiculous. But it was very, very real to me for a very long time.

What I did to try and heal myself was educate myself. I read every non-fiction book, saw every documentary, researched, searched again and again.

I learned that sharks are perfect. They have been on this planet with very little change for 400 million years. There are over 300 species and only 12 have been known to bite humans.

Humans kill sharks at a staggering rate. Up to 73 million a year. Every Year. That's more than double the 6 million Jews slaughtered in the Holocaust, 15 Million Native Americans massacred in the assault on their land, 1 million systematically murdered in Rwanda, half a million to date raped, assaulted and killed in Darfur, and the quarter million killed in Bosnia. Every Year.

What these perfect creatures are killed for is their fins. The fins are used to make Shark Fin Soup, a delicacy in Chinese cultures. The irony is that the soup causes health problems when eaten in abundance. Sterility in men, most notably.

The sharks are caught on longlines. They are hauled on board. Their fins are cut from their bodies which are then thrown back into the water. The sharks are still alive but unable to swim. They sink and drown.

It is a most barbaric practice.

There is a documentary called Sharkwater that I highly recommend to anyone who is interested in this.

Go here to sign a petition and send a letter to your senator encouraging them to vote yes on S. 850, the Shark Conservation Act of 2009 which will outlaw finning in US waters.

We think we'll keep them

2009-07-15T08:19:00.001-07:00

The mysterious/wonderful strangers/new family members took us out on their boat yesterday. All 6 of us. We left the dock at about 10. Ray, who is now Papa Ray, took Storm under his wing. He patiently answered all of his questions and taught him how to read the instruments and the GPS. Storm was in heaven.

The little kids took turns sitting with Kraon at the front. Baby Ray took the longest turn. He likes her A LOT.

The ride was about an hour long. The weather and seas were PERFECT. Papa Ray brought us here, Sand Island. We dinghy-ed in. The kids thought that was really cool. Harrison set up camp while the kids discovered that the water was no deeper than their knees for about 50 yards. There were hermit crabs EVERYWHERE. That's a good thing.

Kraon should petition the Olympic Committee to make Shell Collecting an official sport. She loves it and is really good/lucky at it. Harrison was quite pleased with himself for finding her a big beautiful unbroken and he thought, uninhabited shell. She loved it. It walked away a few hours later. Ray yelled for Harrison to come and get it and rush it to the water. "Don't kill that little creature" he said. Don't you just love him?

Baby Ray got in on the shell collecting, too. I swear he showed Dawn and Kraon every hermit crab out there. He also was quite pleased with himself.

Dawn instituted a search for a Megalodon tooth. I love her. The kids took turns with the mask and snorkel in the shallows. After much sifting and lots of reapplied sunscreen, no tooth. Maybe next time.

We started packing up a little after 3. The kids were still going strong, but would surely pass out soon. I somehow got talked into swimming back to the boat with Faith and Storm. What a fiasco! Little William was so sad. He wanted to go so badly. He got over it when he realized he was going to get to ride in the dinghy with Papa Ray, Kraon and Harrison without the big kids hogging the attention.

Once we got back, we all headed over to Atlas Oyster House for half price sushi and oysters on the half shell. Faith, of course, was the star of that show. No one can believe how that baby girl can take down oysters. It IS pretty amazing.

After lots of hugs and kisses and promises to keep in touch and to come back and for us to go to their "Big ol' House" in Birmingham, we pulled away. Dawn and I talked about them the entire way home. Their generousity, their acceptance, their easy, go-with-the-flow approach to life, their love for our children. ALL of our children.

What really gets me right in the heart is that Papa Ray is so similar to my father on paper. They are only 2 years apart in age. They were both the big super-star quarterback in high school. They both grew up in and have lived their whole lives in the Deep South. They are both charismatic. But my, oh, my are they different! When Papa Ray speaks to us, well, he speaks to US, both of us. We BOTH exist. He asks about the children, not about "the boys." He doesn't give a rat's ass about mine and Dawn's relationship except that we're happy and are raising happy and healthy and well-adjusted children. Together. "Yours, Mine and Ours" he said.

So we think we'll keep them. I hope they keep us. There will be more than 4 broken hearts if they don't.

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Just when I thought my life couldn't get any weirder . . .

2009-07-13T14:07:00.000-07:00

We met Ray and Kraon (pronounced Crayon).

Dawn and I were just minding our own business when (isn't that how all the best stories start? Well except for the ones that start, "I couldn't believe it! It was just layin' there!" Oh! And, of course, the one that starts, "When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow.") a lady in a bright yellow swimsuit came over to us at our favorite beachside restaurant dive. She asked about Faith - if she was adopted.

We get this a lot. You wouldn't believe the confusion and total lack of dignity that can be caused by the sight of 2 white women walking around adoring a little brown child. Dawn is really very funny about it usually. She has a wealth of one-liners that she pulls out depending on just how red-necky or offensive or old or stupid the asker is. This time, though, for some reason, she just answered, "No. She's ours." The lady then did her best to convince us that she is not a bigot and didn't mean any offense and would never want to make us feel uncomfortable and blah, blah, blah. Again, we get this a lot. What we don't get a lot is what happened next.

She cried. She cried alone in her chair for a few minutes and then got it together and then verbally threw-up all over Dawn. She confessed that she had adopted a little girl that looked exactly like Faith 28 years ago. She had raised her as her own and dearly loved her like any good mother would love a baby. 3 years ago, her little girl who had grown up to be a beautiful woman died, inexplicably. She was a mess, of course.

Over the next few hours, we got to know Kraon and her husband Ray and their son Harrison. Here's where the weirdness really takes a turn. You all know how I change everyone's name, right? So it may be confusing both for you and me to keep this straight. Be patient. Deal?

OK. Baby Ray's name in real life is the same name that Harrison had when they adopted him. And Ray's name, well is Ray, the name that I've given my Baby Boy in this blog. Weird, right?

Faith totally took to Kraon who doted on her endlessly. They fished from the pier with a cane pole and raw shrimp that Kraon flirted out of a bartender. And by fishing, I mean that they got the bait a few inches from the surface of the water and managed to hook the fish jumping for it by its scales. Faith says that they caught, "What's the number after 8? 9? Yeah, we caught 9 fish!"

Ray, Kraon and Harrison are sweet souls and strangers no more. We've exchanged numbers and email addresses and made plans for boat rides.

My kids can always use another grandmother. Especially one who loves both of their mothers. And most especially one who fishes:)

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Didn't I just do this?

2009-07-11T12:08:00.000-07:00

But Hell, Everyone else is doing it . . .

1. What is your occupation right now? Mommy, Junk artist

2. What color are your socks right now? No socks. Ever. They make me sweat.

3. What are you listening to right now? Dawn is talking to me about the voicemails. Oh, no. She's talking about some guy at the post office that cracked up when she said, "Sweat keeps you cool."

4. What was the last thing that you ate? *Sigh* Pizza. 2 pieces. Now I have to walk again today.

5. Can you drive a stick shift? No. Shut up, Propane. The really bad thing about this is that we own one.

6. Last person you spoke to on the phone? Dawn

7. Do you like the person who sent this to you? Who sent this to me?

8. How old are you today? 30

9. What is your favorite sport to watch on TV? Football. Unless the Winter Olympics are on. Then I like to get drunk and yell at the Curlers.

10. What is your favorite drink? Chilly Cold Beer from someone else's cooler.

12. Favorite food? Warm tomatoes with homemade basil mayonnaise and salt and pepper. Yummy!

13. What is the last movie you watched? Little Miss Sunshine. Laughed my bootsie off!

14. Favorite day of the year? Christmas Eve

15. How do you vent anger? Bitch and Moan and Stomp Around saying obnoxious things like, "And, then . . .!"

16.. What was your favorite toy as a child? Barbies. Shut up. Everyone.

17. What is your favorite season? Spring

18. Cherries or Blueberries? Strawberries

19. Do you want your friends to e-mail you back? Duh.

20. Who is the most likely to respond? Who's left? Solo? Les? Do it!

21. Who is least likely to respond? Dawg, I agree.

22. Living arrangements? OK. Here we go. Dawn, 4 kids, 1 dog, 4 cats, 2 birds, 2 part-time mice, 2 part-time turtles, 1 part-time Mimi, 5 tanks worth of fish. Seamus is my favorite.

23. When was the last time you cried? About 20 minutes ago. Les is so sweet!

24. What is on the floor of your closet? My dresser. Our bedroom is little.

25. Who is the friend you have had the longest? Randi's sweet husband, Chetford Esquire.

26. What did you do last night? Went to an Art Festival and didn't sell a single thing. This economy sucks for anyone who makes anything less useful than toilet paper. I did drink a nice amount of cool crisp wine, though.

27. What are you most afraid of? Losing a child.

28. Plain, cheese, or spicy hamburgers? Can I have a grilled portobello instead?

29. Favorite dog breed? You know how I love my Gabby (Chow/Lab)! I do have a certain affinity for German Shorthairs, though.

30. Favorite day of the week? Sunday - it's family day.

31. How many states have you lived in? 3

32. Diamonds or pearls? Diamonds. Unless you're offering, in which case, will you pay my mortgage instead?

33. What are your favorite flowers? Spider Lilies.

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Enormous Acts

2009-07-10T05:19:00.000-07:00

Dawn: It seems like the world just kind of came together for you this afternoon.

Me: (Big Smiles) Yeah.

Dawn: In Norma Sax.

Me: (Thinking. Thinking. Thinking. Furrowing my brow.) What?

Dawn: Norma Sax. The lady who helped you.

Me: (Big Smiles) I thought you said Enormous Acts.

Dawn: I guess in a way, I did.

Me: How cool is that?

These are available at Fairy Wings and Things. Pretty Cool, right?

So what had happened was . . . I spent most of yesterday on the phone and the internet, trying my damnedest to get the impossible accomplished from the clear other corner of the good ol' U S of A. I finally found a courier service willing to help me. I spoke to every Halloween Outlet, costume store, hippie hangout and head shop that Portland, Oregon has to offer. What I thought would be the easiest part turned out to be the thing that brought my illustrious plan crashing to the floor. Les wouldn't come off her address. She finally unwillingly and with much trepidation gave Propane a P.O. Box address. Damn it! I CANNOT have Wings delivered to a P.O. Box.

So I gave up for a while. And stewed and stirred. And thought and thought.

Then, Ta Da!, I found the actual website for the actual Hippie Fest that she will be attending. I called and left a message on the office's voicemail. They probably weren't busy at all yesterday, the day before a 3 day festival. So I also sent an email. A stodgy gentleman called back and said that he didn't understand my request at all. His best advice was for me to come to the festival myself. Great. Thank you.

Then I got an email from the office, from a Ms. Norma Sax, also encouraging me to attend the festival. I wrote right back to her :

I live in Florida. I won't be at the festival. I was hoping to call one of the vendors tonight, pay them and have my friend go by the booth and pick them up. You see, she's just recently had a terrible break-up and move-out couple of days. She told me she was going to your festival and wished that she had wings to wear. I was hoping to put a smile on her tear-stained face.

Please, could you give me the name/number/website of a likely vendor? Thank you.

About an hour later, the phone rang. Oregon. BINGO! The caller identified herself as Norma Sax, the office manger for the Oregon Country Fair. She said that she was standing at the festival with a vendor named Carol who had the most beautiful wings that she had ever seen. At this point, I was expecting problems, so I wasn't surprised when she said "The only problem is that she doesn't accept credit cards over the phone." I was too close to be deterred. "What do you suggest?" I said.

And then, my friends, the sky opened, the clouds parted, the migratory paths of the North American birds may have been altered as the planets aligned in this perfect moment in which this angel of a human being said, "I was so touched by your story that I have written Carol a check for you. You can just send one to the Country Fair Office to pay me back." An Enormous Act of kindness and trust and goodness and faith.

Woooooo Hoooooo! Mission Completed!

So then I emailed Les.

So about that Hippie Fest. . . I am InSanEly jealous! Like, the Green-Eyed Monster Jealous! Since I can't be there with you, do something for me - Will you? Go see Carol at booth number 402. Tell her your name is (sorry, you'll have to wait for Les to reveal this). She has something for you. Then give her a hug. And have a fabulous day. Chin up, Angel! FLY! With much love and great hope - Becca

So now I'm waiting. Impatiently.

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New Kicks

2009-07-09T13:54:00.000-07:00

Yes, I think that is a fat roll on my ankles. And yes, that is definitely a faux-wood parquet floor. And yes, you're seeing correctly, the previous owner wasn't big on right angles.

While I wasn't looking, I got fat. I know how it happened; I just don't know when it happened. Recently will suffice as a timeline.

I weighed exactly 118 smokin' hot lbs when I got married 8 years ago. I know because I weighed myself on that morning which will live in infamy. Because it was the single hottest day of the Mississippi summer and I was easily wearing 6 lbs of tulle, I probably only weighed 116 by the end of the day. But I digress.

2 pregnancies, 1 divorce and 3 estranged parents later, I weigh 130 lbs. I know because when I was at a friend's house for our group yard sale, I got on her scale. It seemed a little hesitant to tell me the truth. The red lights chased each other around the digital track until they could run no more. And then, after elbowing each other and hissing secretive obscenities, 1, 3 and 0 were elected to break the news to me.

I wasn't surprised. I was, if possible, somewhat elated. I expected it to be much worse.

Some of you will curse me. Go ahead. In the grand scheme of American female weight troubles, I don't get to complain. I know. I've worn a size 6 since I was in high school. I can still get into my junior year prom dress, but it's not cute. In the words of my mother, "Just because you can zip it, doesn't mean you can wear it." Tru Dat.

Did anyone else see the series of Oprah episodes where she had women from like 27 different countries on to talk about all things womanly in their respective countries? After the series was done, she had a reunion show with ALL of the women on together. She asked them, "What do women around the world think of American Women? They were all in agreement when the (I think) Kuwaiti woman sheepishly said, "They are all fat?" Again, Tru Dat.

I am floored whenever I am forced to cross over the Mississippi state line. It's usually for deaths. I can think of few living reasons to go back there. The point is that prior to my recent (perceived) weight gain, I had counted myself as a wholly mutant Mississippian. Gay and skinny. 1 for 2 just isn't working for me.

So I bought some shoes. As some of you know, I am a loyal Crocs consumer and recycler. In the last 3 years, I have only worn something other than Crocs on 2 days - my sons' Christenings. Crocs, however, doesn't make an athletic shoe, so I was forced to shop. On eBay. (I can't abandon all my values.)

I was reminded, thankfully, of my previous favorite shoe. The Asics Tiger. I'll kick any of you in the shin if you laugh at this next part. Propane, Les and Jude need to be especially careful because I'll have an affordable opportunity here soon. You see, I was a cheerleader. I was the co-captain of the Middle School Cheerleading Squad. The St. Andrew's Saints. The Blue and White. The overly educated and poorly socialized Episcopalians and friends of Episcopalians of Suburbian Jackson, Mississippi.

These shoes may be the most practical thing that I came away from that school with. We'll see. If I didn't have 4 children and 1 sleeping wife I would already be beating the streets in these babies. But alas, I work out my fingers instead. My new ipod shuffle (also from eBay) should be here tomorrow, so I can walk/sprint/walk/sprint/walk while Stephen King or James Patterson or Michael Connelly tells me a bloody tale worth running from.

So come October 1, (yes, Judey Jude, we're coming a day early. I simply cannot miss grocery shopping in a Whole Foods or some comparably Hippie-ish establishment. ) I fully expect to only be tipping the scales to 122. That's my goal. 8 lbs in 85 days. Think I can do it?

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Pan

2009-07-07T08:41:00.000-07:00

All of our children share a room, the master bedroom, in fact. When my aunt Mimi came to live with us, we had to switch things around to make room in our little house. So she took the little boys' room, Dawn and I moved into the big kids' room and all the kids into the master. I took to calling it the nursery. Storm DID NOT think that was cool. It's been really good for them, though.

They've learned patience and teamwork. They've learned each other and bonded in ways that can only happen when 2, 3 or 4 children are openly defying their parents together. After midnight. With flashlights. And candy. They have had late night conversations that I only dare to imagine. They have slept in every combination in every bed in the room. They have switched pajamas. They have switched pillows and blankets. They have rearranged wall hangings. All of it TOGETHER. And even when I have been ready to pull my hair straight from its weary roots, I have reveled in their adoration for each other.

Dawn and I always said that we thought we would just know when it was time for Storm or Faith to move into his/her own room. And that day has come. Tonight will be Storm's first night in his own room, which means that he has spent his last night in the nursery. And I am sad.

He is my first little boy. My greatest challenge. The sweetest and most difficult of my children. The most easily hurt. The most sensitive and the most senseless. My eight-year old enigma.

The age difference between Storm and Faith (3 years) has finally become more of a distraction than a strength. Faith finally has more in common with William and Ray than with Storm. Storm is interested in big boy things, the itty bitty legos that hurt like hell when you step on them, chapter books, Erector sets. He wants to watch shows that have kids as the main characters instead of farm animals. He wants to watch Dirty Jobs and Mythbusters instead of The Backyardigans and The Wonder Pets.

So now I suppose he's also my first big boy. And I have yet another room rearranging day ahead of me. Tonight I'll tuck him in and remind him to turn off his lamp. I'll check on him later and take the book out of his hand. I'll close his door and briefly pause before heading into the much quieter nursery. And for just a second, I bet that I will miss the chaos. The pirates and the indians, my lost boys, my Pan.

Don't It Make My Blue Eyes Green

2009-07-06T12:36:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the darkness. This is the best version I found on YouTube. Our friend Randi introduced us to this song this weekend. I LOVE IT! It doesn't hurt my love of it that Dawn and I have an ongoing debate about whether her eyes are blue or green. I maintain that she doesn't really get a vote because she's colorblind. She insists that there is no way that everyone has been lying to her her entire life. To which I reply that no one knows her truths like I do. So Shut Up - They're GREEN!

Gina's Debut

2009-07-06T07:15:00.000-07:00

This is our friend Gina. Bless her heart, she's an Italian New Yorker who has been dropped on her ass in Florida. She's still not sure how it happened.

She's a riot. Especially about this.

My Friend Propane

2009-07-05T19:32:00.000-07:00

So what had happened was . . . I commented on Propane's post about her 4th. I asked her how hot it is up there. A few minutes later my phone rang. The Caller ID said "Cell Phone MN." I expected it to be our friend Hannah. When I answered a robotic voice said, "You have a text to land line message. Press 1 to hear your message." I got a little panicky. I had mental images of Hannah trapped under something heavy, unable to breathe or speak, her thumbs her only chance of survival. What I heard instead was the same robotic voice saying something like,

"Contrary to popular belief, it does get pretty hot up here. Up to 85 in the day and only down to 65 at night so walking around town last night was really nice." There was more but I was laughing so hard by this point that I didn't hear anything else until the she-robot, in perfect monotone said, "Laughing out loud."

I was still hysterical when Propane called just a few seconds later also laughing hysterically. She had no idea that I had given her my home number.

By the way, anyone who hasn't had the pleasure of hearing her sweet voice should pass your digits along.

Can't wait to talk to you again, Amy. AND I really can't wait to see you!

24 Hours & 48 Minutes Late

2009-07-03T22:48:00.000-07:00

for Thursday's Treasures. Today it's easy.

1. Propane Amy - While we got off the pot, you shat. And that's cool.

2. Randi - She can sing. And she's going to sing this song at MY wedding. When Florida gets its shit together. Wanna come?

3. Stem cells. They, with a capital "T" AND those that fall in the lowercase category, thought I was insane when I insisted on shelling out the bucks for the banking of my son's stem cells.

4. I can read. And write. Turn on PBS or NPR. It'll only take a few minutes for those of you with a vagina to realize just how fortunate you are. (Honestly, do ANY men read this?)

5. That lamp. The one over there. I bought it for my new house, this house. My mother hates it and keeps sending me replacements. But I LOVE it. And it's mine.

Lumbar Gladdle

2009-07-02T05:44:00.000-07:00

Faith and Dawn are laying on the couch having the early morning tickle. The kids say, "Gladdle!" and then Dawn tickles, tickles, tickles until they say, "Gladdle!" again. So Faith was pushing Dawn's shirt up. Dawn said, "What are you doing?" Faith said, "I'm trying to give you a vertebrate." As they struggled for the shirttail (Remember that cartoon when we were kids? The Shirt-tails. That was weird.) and both laughed hysterically, Dawn managed to choke out, "A what?" "A Vertebrate!" Faith screamed.

A Zorbit. She's talking about a zorbit. (For those non-Huxstable watchers out there, that's the little spitting raspberry thing that you do on baby bellies.) She's 5 and correctly pronounces vertebrate. And knows what it is. I adore her.

Refocksa Shops and Grows and What Else?!

2009-07-01T09:18:00.000-07:00

T-Shirts? Were you guys being serious? Shane and I talked a very tiny bit about it. She is willing to allow me to operate a small on-line shop, just for us to have T-shirts, Sweatshirts, stickers, mugs, thongs, whatever we decide on with our beloved Refocksa logo.

What do you guys think? Tell me what items you would be interested in having and I'll do some research and pricing around.

If it goes well, we could have a different design every quarter, maybe. Like AJ's/Jude's "How Many More Signs Do We Have To Make?" or Softball shirts with our Blog names on the back and the logo on the front.

Ideas! Ideas!

An image, an avatar, a t-shirt may be just the beginning. I really feel strangely strongly passionate about this energy that we have here. Like maybe we can really do something big together.

Am I the only one who feels like Refocksa is taking on a life of its own? Like its actually bigger than all of us who wandered into it and finally after aging most gracefully for millenia has been named by the lucky few to find her? And we are now entrusted to do the greatest good through her? Am I a total whack-job or just the first to say it outloud, so to speak. Or write, as the case turns out to be.

Our Favorite Friend - Curious

2009-06-30T11:44:00.000-07:00

This is our friend. Her name, like every other one in our blog (with the exception of mine and Dawn's) has been changed. Our kids call her Aunt Curious, so we'll go with that. As you can see, she is stunningly beautiful - 1000 watt smile, wild hair, amazingly thoughtful and spiritual tattoos.

It's quite perfect that this photo shows the safety pin holding up her pants. At her core is a recycle sign. She is amazingly responsible and environmentally aware. As I wrote that last line, I found myself cringing because its sounds so cliche and trendy. She's not on the Green Band Wagon - She was Green when Green wasn't cool.

She's a Vegetarian. She's been Totally Clean for 2 years now. She's a Fabulous Mother, an Attentive Daughter, and a Thoughtful Friend.

Joy spills from her. She walks around in a puddle of light.

When we went to Jazz Fest, she kept our kids so we were shopping for a gift for her. We found a group of ladies with these amazing tapestries and linens that were made by African Women and Girls as part of a Cooperative. All of the proceeds were to go right back to the Cooperative. It was the PERFECT Curious gift! The lady helping us choose a piece for her asked who we were buying for. Without thinking at all, I said "The friend of ours that's keeping our children. She's going to love this and the project that it comes from. She's this amazing woman - totally pure of heart and soul." Dawn looked at me wide-eyed. She said, "That was the perfect way to describe her. How lucky are we that we have a friend that we can describe like that?"

She wants a Girlfriend. A real relationship with a real person with real feelings and real intentions about a future together. She is tired of the dating world, the bar scene and the unholy hell that is match.com.

So yes, this is me pimping my friend. Anybody know anybody perfect for her? Curious doesn't have any money to speak of, so the lucky lady has to be willing to travel. But honestly, look at her. It's well worth the trip.

Anybody? Anybody?

TallyHassle, My Newest Love

2009-06-29T15:48:00.000-07:00

You all know about my insatiable crush on Ms. Moon. Well, her son may well be my first boy crush in God only knows how long.

You've got to read this.

Update: I just saw that DownTown Guy at TallyHassle aka "My Boyfriend" has given free reign to all of us to crash his site. He's interested to hear everyone else's stories. So go get him! But hands off - I saw him first:)

My Mother

2009-06-28T12:43:00.000-07:00

Where to begin? What to leave out? What tone to take? Why don't I just get my shit together and write a F-ing book? One of my most effective excuses is my mother, who is constantly at odds with at least every other person on the planet, having an only twice before documented reaction to a somewhat (very) addictive substance, wrecking her car for the 7th time this fiscal year and taking her harried insurance company to court, breaking her computer and alienating the computer fix-it people by reminding them that doctors such as herself (though she hasn't practised in 15 years because she "voluntarily relinquished" her license) went to school far longer than they and so shouldn't be talked to like she is a child regarding this machine which is clearly faulty (not plugged in). *Big Cleansing Breath*

Ham Sa. Ham Sa.

Did I mention that she still uses the word "Oriental" to describe people? And when I remind her that that is an adjective to be reserved to describe rugs only, she waves her chunky bejeweled hand and says, "Excuse me, Rebecca. I forget how sensitive you've become."

This is where I lean my head back, stare at the ceiling, take breaths worthy of labor and wonder what I did in my previous life to deserve this. AND how did SHE birth ME? She should have given birth to Paris Hilton. I should have been mothered by wolves. They would have been more forgiving.

She's moving here. Not here, here. But within the county limits. And I'm glad. Mostly. When I'm not thinking of myself. Or of ever doing anything else remotely enjoyable. Ever.

You see, my grandfather (her father) is doing his damnedess to die. Her sisters won't let him. She, with her extensive medical knowledge, thinks he should be in hospice. She doesn't have Medical POA despite the fact that she's the oldest child and has a Medical Degree. Doesn't that tell you something? If one of the 3 sisters doesn't step out of the equation, one of them is going to commit homicide.

So. My mother is coming here. And here's the problem.

She can't actually take care of herself. She has every syndrome, disease, and disorder ever outlined by medical geniuses and failures alike. She doesn't adhere to a regular schedule of sleeping, eating, dressing, medicating or paying her bills. And by "regular" I mean normal and also consistent. She needs help. Daily help. And I don't want it to be me.

The good news is that she divorced well, and has more money than most small churches. (You know. Not a First Baptist Church, but she's not a Second Antioch of Baskersville, either.) Anybody have any ideas how to talk a non-Senior Citizen into an Assisted Living facility? Or hiring live-in or 24 hour call-in care?

It's not that I don't want to help her. But I have 4 kids and I'm pretty busy with them and their joyous things. I don't want to get sucked into her insanity and joy-sucking things.

Oh, crap! I'm not saying this well. I'm sounding heartless and cold. I'm sounding like a petulant child, an ingrate, an asshole. She's my mother, after all. But she makes me crazy. She makes all of humanity crazy. She is crazy.

The World According to Jude

2009-06-25T05:48:00.000-07:00

I know, you're all dying to hear the scoop on Jude and R. Well I've got it; and I'm dishing! Ready? They're perfect. If I had met them individually, I would have loved them. But together, they're like a wink and a smile, peas and carrots, Gilbert and Sullivan.

Jude, in a word? Sweet. Guys, listen. Jude is very possibly the sweetest soul on this precious earth. She is gentle and soft-spoken. She tends to R with such attention! Always asking if she's OK or if she needs something. Jude obviously in word and deed adores R. (It occurs to me that I've made R sound like an invalid. She's not. Her toes are broken.)

About Equality, Jude is passionate without being a fanatic. She brings a cool head and vast knowledge of the law and the history of civil rights struggles, gay and otherwise. She's fighting the good fight with her words and her photos. With unrivaled resolve and stoicism, Jude too "has a dream."

R, for her part, dotes on Jude. With what's left of her Jersey Girl accent, she lovingly tells the good and the bad with brutal honesty, self-reflection that would make Freud proud, and always a casual but mindful hand on Jude's knee or shoulder. She watches her when she's any distance away, and smiles when Jude turns to come back. R has style, class, wit and brains. Nobody could fault Jude for being smitten.

They are a testament to love, the enduring blessing of forgiveness, and the promise of good things for good people. I feel wholly honored that they came all this way to peek in on us and the kiddies. We had a blast.

Na Na Na Boo Boo

2009-06-23T21:01:00.000-07:00

JUDE IS AT MY HOUSE! Na Na Na Boo Boo!

Dawn says that I don't do that Na Na thing properly. What do you think?

Regardless, the fact remains that I have Jude and you don't.

Pictures will be in abundance tomorrow.

The Good, the Bad and the Heartbreaking

2009-06-21T07:24:00.000-07:00

It's Father's Day. Yikes. Not my favorite day. I have a tenuous, at best, relationship with my dad. My step-dad who I lived with for 10 years is long gone. My father's father hasn't spoken to me since I left my husband. My mother's father is struggling against his daughters who just won't let him die. And the father of my sons is in Iraq, hating my guts when he has the time.

I made a slide show with pictures of the boys and catchy diddies and sent it out this morning. My ex will hate the music and tell me about it. My father won't be able to open it. My ex's father will love it, show it to everyone and never mention it to me. I hate futility. And I really hate my compulsion to participate in it. I simply can't help myself; I'm a glutton for punishment.

In the midst of all of this self-pity, I may have made a semi-brilliant decision. (Did you notice all the outs I gave myself right there?) I'm going to start really working on my book. It's been seeding and putting down apprehensive roots in my drought-prone mind for quite some time. The timing of Caleb's visit and Father's Day, though has brought on the rain, I think. (I'm all done with that terribly cliche imagery now. **Collective Sigh of Relief**)

Lesbians, Butches, Femmes, Dykes, Lady-Lickers of all walks, shapes, sizes, colors, ages, creeds, ethnic and national origins, I need your help. I would like to hear your stories about your fathers. The Good, the Bad and the Heartbreaking. If you're willing to share with me, would you please email me ( refocksa_chicks@live.com )? Thank you, my friends.

Lemon Tagged Me

2009-06-20T07:37:00.000-07:00

Damn you, Lemon! I hate these things! If you hadn't tricked me into a Weezer quoting contest, I might have conveniently ignored this tag. But since I am the epitome of Public Enemy and you were told that I'm a lesbian, here it is.

What is your current obsession?
My blog. And your blog. And yours, too. I finally feel comfortable getting around and adding and changing things.

What is your weirdest obsession?
Cups. I hate drinking from plastic and can't drink from glass because my kids are insane. So I drink from that really hard acrylic/poly-something-or-other. Dawn keeps me stocked with new patterns and colors. I LOVE getting a new cup!

Recall a fond childhood memory.
My dad is a golf-pro. I adored riding around in a golf cart while he played. We always had really good (nasty) snacks - Fanta, Hot peanuts, Nabs (for all you Yankees out there, that's a pack of 6 cracker sandwiches.) For someone who can't play golf, I know a lot about it.

What's for dinner?
Ummm. . . Saturday . . . probably Little Caeser's $5 Drive-Thru special for the kids and some combination of Shrimp and vegetables and pasta for Dawn and me. She has a special way with that dish. Yum!

What would you eat for your last meal?
Maybe the aforementined pasta plate, honestly. I'd add a spinich salad with lots of tomatoes and cucumbers, pecans, balsamic vinaigrette, yeah. Perfect, crisp, cool and fruity Sauvignon Blanc. Bread Pudding without Raisins for dessert.

What's the last thing you bought?
$26 worth of movie snacks for the family yesterday afternoon.

What are you listening to right now?
Storm and William are watching Dirty Jobs - he's in a refueling aircraft.

What do you think of the person who tagged you?
I think she's a riot. I wish she would write more about her crazy dad.

If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?
Right here in central Pensacola. About 2 neighborhoods over. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease?!

If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
Only one hour, huh? That should be enough time. Just south of Cape Town, South Africa, on a boat with Chris Fallows. I want to see the Great Whites breach.

Which language do you want to learn?
Spanish seems the most practical, but I sure would love surprising Dawn with a little Portuguese. Yeah, yeah! Portuguese! I choose Portuguese!

What's your favorite quote (for now)?
If you're gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough.

What is your favorite colour?
Yellow.

What is your favorite piece of clothing in your own wardrobe?
I have this crazy tiered linen black skirt. It has a drawstring and doesn't make me feel fat or like I might pass out from heat stroke. I love it.

What is your dream job?
"If I could make a living out of loving you, I'd be a millionaire in a week or two. Doing what I love and loving what I do, if I could make a living out of loving you."

What's your favourite magazine?
Magazines seem so wasteful to me. I never get to read them, and I hate the idea of all the paper that goes into me not reading them. Does the Company Store catalog count?

If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on?
Crap. The gas bill. That's so boring, I know.

Describe your personal style?
Lazy. Fat girl in a little shirt. You're-too-old-to-shop-exclusively-at-Old-Navy.

What are you going to do after this?
Try to coax Ray into putting some pee in the potty.

What are your favourite films?
The Color Purple, I know I just saw it yesterday but I think I'll have to include UP, American Beauty, The Ref

What's your favourite fruit?
Pineapple. I also really dig bananas with peanut butter.

What inspires you?
Really good writing, a great success or survival story, Dawn's love and watching the kids figure stuff out.

Your favourite books?
To Kill a Mockingbird, anything by Tom Robbins, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Do you collect anything?
These days, it seems like we collect pets. I do collect old chairs, mostly from the side of the road. I don't know where the compulsion comes from, but I really can't drive past a chair.

Any advice that’s come from bitter experience?
Tell the truth. Tell the truth. Tell the truth.

What makes you follow a blog?
Something witty, something shocking, something gut-wrenching, something about children as crazy as mine.

Now listen, Lemon. I don't want you to take this personally, but I AM NOT tagging anyone else. I'm willing to risk the 25 years of bad luck or whichever Urban Legend happens to be attached to this. Sorry. On the upside, this was more fun than I expected it to be. So thanks.

I hope Ray pees.

.

Thursday's Treasures - Caleb, Leslie and Mason

2009-06-18T06:55:00.000-07:00

Dawn's friends came to town yesterday. I wasn't excited. Suffice it say that I've had trouble with Dawn's friends in the past. So yet another visit from people that I don't know and who haven't seen Dawn in 10 years but still call her their best friend wasn't my idea of Wonderful Wednesday. You know?

But these folks were AWESOME! Caleb is a fiction writer who hasn't written any fiction but does have a non-fiction book out called Star Wars Jesus (yes, he's a big dork.) Leslie is a painter, animal whisperer, beer-guzzler, Whitney Houston video appearing fabuloso. Mason is 7, VERY shy and obviously brilliant, of course. LOVE THEM! Keeping them. Forever.

Anybody want to go in with me to buy one of her paintings? We'll keep it at my house because it was my idea.

I love new friends, especially the kind that aren't much work, you know? We just all fell together and meshed really well - plenty to talk about, similar child-raising styles, complimentary drinking habits:) They live far enough away that the relationship stays fresh but close enough that it doesn't go stale.

So here's my list - I can only think of 4 today, I don't want to force a fifth.

1. Ice cold beer in bottles that have at least one word on them that I can't pronounce and don't know what it means.

2. Oysters on the half shell. And ordering a second dozen because friends are here and it's a celebration.

3. Talented friends who are google-able. That makes me feel rich AND important.

4. My aquariums - all 5 of them, but especially the biggun with 8 different kinds of tetras.

Chicks: A Good Choice

2009-06-15T17:56:00.000-07:00

The following is from Heifer International's website. I thought it was apropos to give a flock of chicks in Dawg's name:)

Flock of Chicks
Chicks: A Good Choice

A flock of chicks can help families from Cameroon to the Caribbean add nourishing, life-sustaining eggs to their inadequate diets.

The protein in just one egg is a nutritious gift for a hungry child. Protein-packed eggs from even a single chicken can make a life-saving difference.

Heifer helps many hungry families with a starter flock of 10 to 50 chicks. A good hen can lay up to 200 eggs a year - plenty to eat, share or sell. With Heifer recipients' commitment to pass on the offspring and training, the exponential impact of adding chickens to communities in poverty is truly a model that helps end hunger and poverty.

Because chickens require little space and can thrive on readily available food scraps, families can make money from the birds without spending much. And chickens help control insects and fertilize gardens.

In Tanzania, Omari and Kulwa were struggling to raise a family on just 50 cents a day. With the training and chicks they received from Heifer, egg sales have boosted their daily income to $2, so they can now buy food and still pay school fees. Now, through passing on the gift, all of the children in their village are going to school.

My 100th Post - Ode to Dawg

2009-06-12T07:00:00.000-07:00

As part of my New Year's Revolution, I started this blog. I had no idea what to write or who would read it or how long I would keep it up. Honestly, I also had no idea what I was going to write about or what might come of it.

My first profile said that I wanted to be discovered as one of the great comic voices of our time. I wanted to be paid to write and published far and wide and become famous as a no non-sense kind of girl who, on a bad day overuses alliteration and justifiable poor punctuation.

On Thursday January 29th, I copied and pasted an article I had written weeks before into blogger. It took me an embarrassingly long time to do it. Later in the day, I posted another entry about how pleased I was with myself. And even later I posted a hilarious if disturbing exchange in which Faith taught me the most efficient way in which to dispose of our fish. Day 1 - I was hooked.

February - I posted and posted. I looked around a little, figured out that I could click on my own interests in my own profile and be directed to other bloggers that shared that interest. (I am a computer moron.) I wrote a little of this, a little of that. Family situations, political rants, witty anecdotes. I tried it all. Mid-month, someone took notice of my flailing attempts to get some attention. She became my first follower.

Dawg. Dawg. Wonderful Dawg. She left her first comment on February 12th. It was a post about Dawn breaking our unspoken agreement to stop shaving during the winter. Oh, the joy that cursed through my body at seeing the words "1 comment"! It was better than the vast majority of the sex that I had in my life prior to the year 2007. That goes to show what lesbianism can do for a floundering, lost soul.

Dawn freaked out. "Who is this person? Where is she? What is she smoking? (Remember Dawg's picture in the smoke haze? There was what looked like a door with tempered glass in the top half behind her. It always made me think of "Smokin' in the Boys' Room.") What does she write about? Oh! My! God! Becca! She's like a real Dyke! Oh my God!" I reminded Dawn that she was the one that had encouraged the writing. She was the one that had encouraged the public profile. She was the one person that had supported me and wanted me to succeed in this ridiculous endevour. I reminded her that in order to become a writer that gets paid that people have to actually read what said writer writes. I reminded her that this was a good thing. She wasn't convinced. I think Dawg scared her a little.

5 months, 100 posts and 29 Followers later, Dawn has come around, and Dawg has stayed true-blue. She hardly ever misses a post. She gave me my first and only award. I found most of you by scouring her reading list. She has taught me A LOT about the lesbian community - either because she told us all about it or because I didn't understand what she was talking about and looked it up myself. Dawg - my virtual tour-guide to my new life, and my first Imaginary Friend.

In honor of my 100th post and of her friendship, I'll be making a donation in her name to Heifer International, (If you're not laughing right now, take a deep breath, release the furrow in your forehead and the tension in your shoulders. 'Cause that's just funny - I don't care who you are.) an organization that gives livestock and husbandry training to impoversished women around the world. The women are then charged with passing on the gift by giving offspring to their neighbors and teaching their sisters and daughters what they were taught. I'll also be sending her a little gift in appreciation for her regular attention and continued urging down this road-less-traveled.

Thanks, Dawg.

.

Thursday's Treasures or Things that Make Me Feel Rich

2009-06-11T12:09:00.000-07:00

So it's Thursday. Time for Thursday's Treasures, or Things that Make Me Feel Rich. And I'll get to it, but first a little story.

Just a few moments ago, I was reading Ms. Moon's post Brains Baked, Simmered, Fried and Flaked. As usual, I was enthralled and inspired and at home in her words. As usual, I felt like she had given my belly stirrings words, and so told me my own truth. She's amazing. And so as usual, I laughed outloud and Dawn said, "What?" I said, "I'm laughing at Ms. Moon." She said, "What's she up to today?" I said, "She's yelling about people coming to her house to witness." Dawn said, "Witness what?"

Before I go any further let me remind you all that if it weren't for the fact that we share a heart and soul, you would testify that Dawn and I are Polar Opposites. She grew up WAY up there and I, WAY down here. Our political, social and spiritual upbringings were as far removed in content as they were in geography.

So you'll understand the sweet shock that rushed over me when my beloved said, "Witness what?" In the brief seconds that I stayed in my chair, I was hit head-on by how different our beginnings in life were and how amazing it is that we have come together and how glad I am to not be living my old life anymore and how much tangibly better my life is with her in it and so many others out of it.

And so, surprising both Dawn and me, I stood up and quickly moved to her. I took the laundry out of her hands and put my impatient mouth on hers and pushed her down and made love to her right there on the couch in the middle of the afternoon heat.

And I feel rich. And whole. And so very alive.

So here's my list for today.

1. Ms. Moon's laid-bare soul, her wisdom and her truths.

2. NOT living in Mississippi.

3. Having a whole swarm of friends to tell this stuff to and Believing that you really do care.

4. Pandora.com that always manages to play a perfect song. Right now, it's Debbie Comer's version of Crash into Me.

5. The City of Pensacola that puts on fantastic summer activities. Tonight I'm going to play in the fountains with my adorable family while a band serenades us.

.

Mystery Solved

2009-06-09T17:59:00.000-07:00

Nurture vs. Nature. It's an age-old question, and one that is bound to come up in the lives of my children. Storm and Faith are fathered by the poster child for the American Melting Pot. He most closely identifies as African-American. William and Ray are fathered by a pasty white Brit. Unfortunately, the children don't see them as often as any of us would like because the guys are both in the Army and have spent so much time overseas.

It's an interesting arrangement, no doubt. We get LOTS of questions and avoid many others. My favorite? "Which ones are yours?" And I say, "All of them." And Bitchy Ignoramuses say, "No, I said 'Which of the children are yours?'" And I say, "Yes, Ma'am. And I said, 'All of them.'" And they say, "Oooooooooh!" in a sing-songy way that betrays both their surprise and disapproval. I cut my eyes, smile and twirl Faith's hair around my finger.

So I spend a fair amount of time studying my children. I not only revel in their smiles and squeals and questions and answers; but I LOOK at them. I look for Dawn and Big Storm in Storm and Faith. I look for myself and Jack in William and Ray. Physical features are easy, but still need to be catalouged. The kids like to talk about where their eyes came from and how they got their toes and "who has hair like me." It's also good for the guys, I think. They need to hear about the obvious presence of their DNA when all else fails. Storm looks EXACTLY like Big Storm - perfect smile and Fred Flintstone feet, and William and Ray ARE Jack from the neck down - narrow shoulders and soccer-player legs.

What plagues me, though, are the weird habits and preferences/obsessions. One, in particular, really irks me. I have watched Storm do this for a couple of years now, and have been close to throwing-up for a couple of years now. He twitches his nose and then, with his palm parallel to his face, starts with the tip of his middle finger and rubs his entire hand and forearm up his face. This behavior has been a total mystery to me. I have NEVER, in my entire life, seen anyone else do this. Until tonight.

We found a new-to-us beach dive. Open-air, fresh seafood, good beer on tap, a little band - our kind of place. The kids were playing on the beach and Dawn and I were enjoying a rare moment alone. I was in mid-sentence when her nose started twitching. Her strong, capable hand came up; and as I held my breath and did my best to keep my eyes from popping out of my head, she performed the manuever.

Damn!

That's one less thing I can blame on THEM.

.

Summer Lovin'

2009-06-06T18:01:00.000-07:00

I love, love, love my new look! What do you guys think? Very Summery, right?

I'm quite in love with summer tonight. Does it show? Summer is all of my favorite things, except Christmas. But that's good because the wintertime needs something uplifting, too, you know?

Summer is my favorite foods - crawfish boils, homemade ice cream, oysters on the half, and Perfect Garden Vegetables (notice how I give respect with capital letters). Tomatoes. Tomatoes. I could write yet another Ode to Tomatoes right now, but I'll spare you.

Summer is my favorite drinks - Iced Sweet Tea, Chilly Cold Beer straight from my rusty cooler, Frozen Margaritas, Late Afternoon Vodka & Tonics that take many witty cocktail napkins. My favorite one shows a 50s era woman in a button-up pink dress leaning against a tree. She's smiling coyly. The caption reads, "She had not yet decided whether to use her powers for good or for evil."

Summer is my children - at the Beach, in the yard, on a road trip, in fountains, on bikes, in parks, at festivals, together.

Summer holds my favorite memories from my less than illustrious childhood and not-yet-adulthood. I went to summer camp at Camp DeSoto atop Lookout Mountain in Alabama. I went for a month for 6 years. LOVED it! It was hot and dusty and humid and comfortable and safe and fun and perfect and wanna hear me sing some songs?

Summer was the time for my tragically dysfunctional Southern family to take a FABULOUS trip. We drove across Canada once. Good Lord. We had run-ins with bears, massive sheep and elk that wouldn't get off the road for the goddamn Pope. There was snow (we Mississippians don't do well with that.) There was a grumpy customs agent who didn't think much of our Georgia peaches. My now ex step-dad drove the rental van into a pole in a bank parking lot. I got new L.A. Gear high-tops because they were affordable in Canada. My now ex step-sister did not and threw a massive fit, so my mother's sister threw one of the aforementioned peaches at her in the aforementioned rental van. Good times.

Summer is my favorite boyfriend. Lance. It was the summer I worked at my dad's Country Club as a lifeguard. When I say it was my dad's what I mean is that he was the Golf Pro at the course. It was his job. Lance was a lowly cart boy, and a county school kid, at that. He was adorable. Totally smitten with me. I was the boss's daughter, 16 with a rock hard newly transformed body in a brand new bright red racerback suit and tortoise shell sunglasses. My goodness. He was tripping on himself. He drove a T-top Camaro with only the primer on it. The tape deck responded better to a good swift whack on the dash than to the buttons and knobs. He cried a little the first time we heard "Beaches of Cheyenne," the big hit of that summer. To this day, he's the sweetest boy I ever knew.

"If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance."

Go get some sweet kisses, girls. Summer's here.

Aloha!

2009-06-05T10:17:00.000-07:00

I went to Hawaii once in Middle School. It was nice. I like Hawaiian music and I think the native language is beautiful. Like every little girl, I had a grass skirt at some point. I have a few Hibiscus plants in my yard. All this to say that I think of Hawaii as much as the next person. I'm not hankering to get there. It's not my mental happy place. Hawaii, just Hawaii. Whatev.

Yesterday, though. Damn! I couldn't get away from it. Weird Hawaii happenings in chronological order: 1) I bought Storm the next book in the Magic Tree House Series which happened to be High Tide in Hawaii. 2) Storm and Faith's dad sent a box of souvenirs from Hawaii where he had recently been on a training exercise. Faith was covered in hibiscus themed jewelry, and Storm was fabulous in a new t-shirt that read, "Hang Loose." (This saying always makes me think of going commando.) 3) On the way to an evening spent playing in the public fountains, we stopped to get a bottle of wine at Aloha Wine World. 4) When we pulled up to the fountains, there was an old car with a sticker on the back window that read, "AlohaWinds.net" 5) On the ground next to where we parked was a tag from a beach towel covered in hibiscus flowers. Isn't this weird?

So I've decided to try out "Aloha" for a while. I'm going to answer the phone with it. Annoy drive-through tellers. Sign emails. Confuse my neighbors.

It's good both coming and going. Aloha!

Treasures from the Moon

2009-06-02T19:05:00.000-07:00

I so love this notion that Ms. Moon put in my head, that I think I may make it a weekly post like Wordless Wednesdays or Dawg's Dislike Fridays. How's Thursday for you? Skipping this coming Thursday, of course.

Here's the disclaimer - I'm not going to include Dawn and the children in my lists. You all know how much I ADORE them and if I go ahead with this disclaimer then I won't feel that annoying pang of guilt every time I don't mention them and you guys won't have to vomit in your laps every Thursday which may lead to it being known as Throw Up Thursday which is not becoming in the least. Oh! And I'm limiting myself to a list of 12 today and 5 every Thursday hereafter. Skipping this coming Thursday, of course.

OK? Here goes.

Things that make me feel rich:

1. Our fabulous camera that we refer to as "the asset."

2. My poetry books by obscure authors.

3. Organic anything - especially fruit and soaps.

4. My grandmother's silver.

5. Going out on a date. At night. Without children.

6. My twice yearly haircut at the fancy salon.

7. Yearly Membership passes - for anywhere or anything.

8. New Crocs with carefully chosen Jibbitz.

9. Opening a good bottle of wine and pouring perfectly for Dawn who doesn't care.

10. Netflix

11. Buying a new pair of orange-handled scissors with which to cut whatever I want without irritation.

12. Dawn's collection of rocks, shells and trinkets from far and wide.

Can't Stop Laughing!

2009-06-02T17:50:00.000-07:00

I just read this on the Catholic News Agency website. These are the last few lines of an article that started out being about President Obama declaring June to be LGBT Pride Month.

Last Friday, the Baghdad Embassy employee association hosted a Gay Pride Theme Party at an employee pub. A flyer for the event, reposted on the Washington Post's website, encouraged attendees to “dress in drag or as a gay icon.”

A State Department source told the Washington Times that the party “throws gasoline on the fire” of Islamic insurgency and strengthens the perception that America is promoting decadence.

Perk Up, Jude

2009-06-01T10:47:00.000-07:00

Viral Meningitis

2009-05-31T14:42:00.000-07:00

Has anyone ever had this? What did it feel like? Am I dying?

Good Enough

2009-05-28T06:39:00.000-07:00

Well, they're not exactly President Obama or Vice-President Biden, but I'll take them. The lawyers who were on opposing sides of the 2000 Presidential Election recount case have joined forces and filed in Federal Court for marriage protection under the Federal Constitution. YEA!

I saw them on Larry King last night. I thought they were very impressive.

Any ideas on how to rally around them? Solo?

Go Away

2009-05-27T11:25:00.000-07:00

As if to mirror my mood, the sky has dumped a torrent of rain on our heads today. I'm irritated with Dawn (who knew that was possible?) and our kids and the school and the world, in general. It's a day in which I shouldn't allow myself to speak.

Does this sound like PMS or what?

I love puddles, especially the ones at the curbs. After picking up the little kids from school I drove through every one I could find. I get a sick satisfaction out of the spray off of my mini-van tires. I'm pathetic, I know.

Shame

2009-05-26T11:41:00.000-07:00

Sean Penn spoke of the shame that will haunt the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of those who support Prop 8. I think of the grandchildren of Sen. McCarthy and Gov. Wallace and cannot imagine the embarrassment and stigma that they must live with everyday. And I wonder if the 6 who voted to uphold Prop Hate will find their names in History books listed with these infamous separatists.

AJ was right when she wrote that the Civil Rights movement needed a champion in the highest office in this land. It could never have been left to the voters. (I'm from Mississippi, remember? The state that didn't ratify the 14th Amendment until 1995.)

I'm ready for a national champion to step forward on this long over-due matter. Then-Senator Biden railed against same-sex discrimination in his debate with Governor Palin. Then-Senator Obama called for at least a compromise to assure hospital visitation and benefits in his acceptance speech for the nomination. COME ON! Stop hiding behind "Marriage is a matter for the states to decide" and start leading "This is America! Land of the Free and Home of the Brave! And I am the President for all people and will take it on my own shoulders to guarantee that all people will be treated equally! Until everyone is free, no one is." This is, after all, a Civil Rights matter.

I always get overly dramatic when I'm feeling sassy. My thoughts aren't entirely coherent. Forgive me. I'm just so sad.

Our First Pride Weekend

2009-05-25T15:43:00.000-07:00

They called it "The Hot Mess Marsh."

Dawn said, "If someone asked you what the opposite of gay is, wouldn't Arkansas Razorback be a not untrue answer?"

Our next tent neighbors. They had great music, of course.

Scott is Dawn's friend's husband. Not gay, but he got A LOT of attention on the beach:) I liked that he brought a cooler and a shaker.

Dykes with Kites.

The Surf was pretty high all weekend because of the storms. This guy is not gay, but he may have wanted to be by the end of the party.

Awww. Even our shoes love each other. Dawn said, "I'm on top." I said, "OK."

3 asses. It's not as good as Jude's pic of the assey surfer, but is anyone complaining?

There were only a couple of rainbow umbrellas at the beach. Just Kidding.

If you can manage it, don't look at me being decidedly un-photogenic. Check out the rub-down behind me.

For you tataphiles out there - She wanted to know if I was going to photoshop her clothes off. I said, "No, your shirt is so cute."

I believe Solo calls them "Cute Baby Dykes."

Girl with a Guitar - Carol Plunk at Peg Leg Pete's. She is rockin' good and has a huge following of like-minded ladies:)

My Great Love lost her aphrodisiac in her shoe. She laughed so hard I thought she was going to wet her pants.

We had a Great Time! Without kids, it would have been totally different, of course. More debauchery, more drunkenness, more shocking stories for you guys. We have plenty of years for that, though. So stay tuned.

We still haven't been to a Pride Parade. I really want to do that. Anyone want to fly us to wherever yours is? And put us up? And put up with us? OK. I can wait. Again, I've got plenty of time.

Tits, as promised

2009-05-22T18:56:00.000-07:00

Dawn's camera battery died after about 20 pictures. Boo Hiss! So you have to settle for mine. We'll try and get some perkier ones tomorrow.

We had a GREAT time!

P.S. - That is my arm in the bottom left corner of the picture, not a fat roll.